


Vengeance Found

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Series: Lost and found [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Wings, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Wings, Wingtimacy, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Sequel to"Lost and Found"Crowley knows who he is again, although still suffering trauma from his experiences, he takes charge when Aziraphale is hurt by heaven, and declares vengeance on those responsible. Contains reference to PTSD, and graphic descriptions of violence.Events in this work take place immediately after the end of “Lost and Found”, commencing after Crowley and Aziraphale get back to the bookshop after visiting Crowley’s flat earlier in the day.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Lost and found [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571629
Comments: 78
Kudos: 108





	1. Memories are made of … pain.

**Author's Note:**

> TW/CW – mention of PTSD. Crowley remembers far too much at once. Aziraphale gets curious and finds an unexpected, unpleasant surprise.

Crowley paused, uncertain emotions flickering across his visage, as they stepped into the bookshop. It was the first time since his abduction that the building had had any visible effect on the demon. He reached out and gripped Aziraphale’s arm tightly for the second time that day. The angel looked across at him, concern etched into his face. Crowley stood, immobile, gazing across the shop floor with a thousand yard stare.

Aziraphale turned to face him, seeking his gaze “Crowley, what’s wrong, my love?” The demon had just had thousands of years’ worth of memories and neuroses unceremoniously dumped back into his mind in one go after a couple of months of blissful ignorance of the literal hell he had lived through, with only the angel’s stories, inevitably tinted with gentle love, to remind him of what had gone before. Now his own visions of it all had come back and hit him like a freight train. He had _known_ about the bookshop fire, but until he stepped foot back through the door, he hadn’t _understood_. If he’d been more self-aware in the moment, he might have understood his reaction for PTSD, and it wasn’t something he was simply going to get over by force of will.

Aziraphale however did have an inkling of what might be going on, but was woefully unprepared for how to deal with it. Crowley was frozen, eyes wide, and a broken sob escaped from his lips. He could only see flames around him, and was heedless of the angel’s hand in his. He fell to his knees, smelling bitter smoke in his nostrils, seeing fluttering embers of burning paper cascading upwards past his eyes on the up draughts, heard crashing timbers as shelves collapsed, and felt the explosion of water hitting his chest as the power of the firehose crashing through the window blasted him off his feet, tasting copper bright blood in his mouth from biting his own tongue in the impact. His breathing was harsh and ragged, his heart hammering in his chest, he needed to run, to get away, to do something, _anything_. Then…

He tasted lips on his own.

He felt arms tight around his body.

He smelled Aziraphale’s soft comforting scent against his nostrils.

He heard the angel’s soothing voice.

He opened his eyes and saw Aziraphale’s loving blue ones staring, worried, into his own.

He breathed.

“…I’m here, Crowley, I’m here. You’re safe, I’m safe, I was never in the bookshop as it burned, my love. And Adam undid it all, remember? You’re ok. I love you. You’re here now, with me, we’re ok.” Crowley’s breathing gradually grew less panicked, his heart eased its fevered gallop within his chest. Crowley’s eyes were wide, but the warmth of the angel’s love trickling through the contact on his body finally roused him. “…Remembering, sorry, Angel.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. Aziraphale felt his body trembling, and pulled him forward into a tender embrace, one hand came up to run through the demon’s soft red hair, soothing him. “It’s alright, dearest, is it the fire?” Crowley nodded mutely, and fell forward into the embrace, his face buried in the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s coat at his shoulder.

“I didn’t remember it before today, a lot flooded back when we were at the flat, but this… this…” He gestured vaguely with one hand at the bookshop around them. “…This I didn’t understand until I was here again. I can feel the flames, angel. I can feel… I can feel what I felt when I thought I’d lost you, when I thought they’d killed you.” His voice cracked, and Aziraphale held him tight as they knelt together on the floor, kissing his hair gently. “I know, dearest, I know. There’s a lot to process.” Crowley sobbed. “I’m sorry, Angel.”

Aziraphale kissed him again. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, my darling. I’m here, we’re ok.” Crowley nodded weakly. Aziraphale gazed at him fondly. “Let’s have a cup of tea, eh?” Crowley nodded again. He generally preferred coffee, but at a time like this he’d accept some tea. Must be the Britishness rubbing off on him after all these years. Angels and demons had no nationality, but if you spend long enough in one place, you’ll find yourself fitting in eventually. Aziraphale had taken to it like a duck to water.

He allowed Aziraphale to help him to his feet then let go of him reluctantly. A moment later he collapsed back onto the once-again familiar sofa, staring into nothing and attempting to get his thoughts in order. Simply hearing about all of these things via the angel was nothing like having all that cold, hard knowledge back in your head again, with your own viewpoint firmly entrenched in it all.

Aziraphale, for all his protestations that he hadn’t sugar coated anything he’d told him in their weeks of recounting their exploits before Crowley’s memories had been stolen, clearly _had_ put a kinder slant on things. Whether that was because he was trying to make things nicer for Crowley, or because that’s simply how he viewed the world, Crowley couldn’t rightly say, but he wished he’d been a little more prepared for exactly how bad some of the things he’d been through had been.

No wonder he’d freaked out at the flat when it had all landed back in his head again like an atom bomb exploding behind his eyeballs.

Aziraphale came back from the kitchenette with two cups of tea, placed one before Crowley, and sat down next to him on the sofa, placing a soothing hand on his thigh as he sipped at his own tea. “So do you remember now what happened when they took you too?” Crowley nodded, and gulped some piping hot tea gratefully. Strangely, the abduction wasn’t anywhere near as upsetting as the fire had been. “I’d parked up near the shopping centre, they got me in the stairwell, used a tazer from behind so I didn’t see who got me, kicked me in the head and I blanked out.”

“Where did they take you?” Crowley shrugged. “Don’t think it was hell, didn’t feel like heaven either, or earth. Some kind of other plane of existence. Just a big cold concrete room, had my hands tied, and the bastards set about me with baseball bats. They said if they couldn’t kill me they could at least make my life not worth living. They all had masks on.”

“I couldn’t snap, somehow I didn’t have access to any power there, I don’t know how or why, but at least one of those bastards still did. By that point my eyes were swelled shut and I couldn’t see who did it, but they put their hands on my head then it was like a fucking ice pick through my skull, like they were ripping my brain to shreds, I haven’t felt pain like it before, I could feel the memories just tearing away, couldn’t think of anything…”

He paused and took a breath. “The last thought going through my head was you, Aziraphale, I was just thinking of your face, I was screaming in my head ‘ _please don’t take my angel from me, please, please, please…_ ’ but you were going and that was the last thing I remembered.” He looked across in to Aziraphale’s eyes at this point, tears welling in his own. Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him softly on the forehead, then Crowley took another gulp of tea and carried on. “I must have lost consciousness again, next thing I remember was them dragging me through the streets of London. I was bleeding everywhere, they’d ripped most of my clothes off too, then they dumped me on a train and fucked off. It terminated at Uxbridge, someone woke me up there and when I didn’t know what was going on, a security guy dragged me off the train and shoved me outside the back of the station.”

“I just lay there for a while, I was fucking freezing. Probably several hours later a PCSO found me, asked me who I was and where I lived. I didn’t know anything. They called an ambulance who took me to hospital and patched me up, then someone took me to the homeless shelter and a guy there gave me some clean clothes. They let me stay the night but in the morning everyone had to leave, out on your own. Well, you know the rest. I was on the streets for a few weeks. Didn’t know anything, couldn’t make sense of anything. First time I saw my damned eyes in a mirror I nearly shat myself. I had wondered what the humans had been going on about when they were asking me about contact lenses. At least the homeless shelter guy found me a pair of shades when I asked.”

He finished his tea and continued. “Not being able to make sense of anything was the worst bit though. I begged for money and the alcohol just seemed to help, I didn’t want to exist. Had some freaks proposition me, told me I was pretty, tried to get me to go home with them, I told them to fuck off. Had to fight a few too. Got beaten up a bit now and then when people thought I was infringing on their territory. Got spat on by randoms walking past, had my sleeping bag nicked at least once, had a tent but some bastard set fire to it while I was in it. The charity couldn’t give me another tent as they’d run out. Lucky I’m fireproof even if I didn’t realise that was why I escaped unharmed from that at the time.”

Aziraphale was shocked, he slid his arm around Crowley’s shoulder and hugged him close. The demon carried on. “So by the time you came around and asked me to go home with you, I wasn’t understanding everything you said, and thought you were another weirdo trying to proposition me. But then I realised when you said you knew me that you meant it, and I felt something. I guessed I could trust you and thought ‘fuck it, let’s give it a go.’” Aziraphale smiled at him warmly and hugged him a bit closer. “The hardest part was disappointing you over and over again. It hurt so much seeing your face fall every time you hoped I’d remember something and I didn’t. It was like getting stabbed in the heart every time and I felt like a piece of shit for hurting you. Like you were wasting your time on me.”

Aziraphale stopped him with a kiss. “No, dearest. No time spent with you is ever wasted, I was sad, but you never hurt me my darling.” He ran a soft hand down Crowley’s angular jawline, and a thumb across his lips. “And it gave you the courage to kiss me, remember?” Crowley smiled and tipped his head forward to rest against the angel’s. “Yes.” He kissed Aziraphale softly. He pulled back and thought for a moment, then stood up abruptly. “I’ve got work to do. Now I remember some of the things that I _can_ do, and I’m starting right _here_ …”

He strode over to the door of the bookshop, Aziraphale, alarmed that Crowley was leaving for some reason, scrambled to his feet and rushed after him, before a gentling hand gesture waved him to stillness. “Relax, angel, just stay there a moment, I need to do something here…” Crowley stood in front of the door, squared his shoulders and dropped his head, extending one hand, palm out, at the door, eyes closed and concentrating, lips moving silently, the fingers of his other hand began moving purposefully at his side, drawing curious shapes in the air. He lifted his head and glared at the door, a low hiss escaping his lips. A faint pulse of power rippled the air between his open palm and the old wood, and a strange sigil briefly glowed a dim red on the inside of the door before vanishing again.

“Crowley, what on earth did you just do to my door?” Aziraphale demanded. “Placed a ward on it, Angel. I should be the only demon able to come and go through this portal now. It should bite the fuck out of any other demon who tries. Can’t make it work on angels I’m afraid, you’d have to do that, if you can, but it’ll protect this space from my lot for a while at any rate. Let me go do the back door too, I’ll be back in a minute…” He strode off through the door to the back of the shop. “Don’t know why I didn’t do this before, Angel.”

Warding the bookshop was one thing, but unless they were to become hermits and never leave the place, there was little they could do against threats elsewhere, save for remaining vigilant, and it left both of them feeling vulnerable and on edge. “We can’t just go and hide somewhere, Angel, they can find us wherever we are, I mean they showed that when they took me. They said if they couldn’t kill me they’d make sure my life wasn’t worth living, and did that with the memory theft. What if your lot decide to do something like that to you?”

Aziraphale considered it. “I don’t know, darling. All we can do is try to be ready for them, and take it as it comes.” He felt helpless, but tried desperately not to let his fear show, lest he alarm Crowley even more. What was one angel and one demon against the combined forces of heaven and hell? I mean yes, they had technically defeated both before, but the chances of managing the same trick twice were slim to none, they were very much living on borrowed time, and in bodies technically leased from their superiors. Should they get discorporated now, they no longer had any assurance of a replacement corporation. They’d be left forever floating as an ethereal, intangible presence. It’s hard to be confident as an almost immortal supernatural being when you are now almost as mortal as the next human. They had to look after these fragile bodies.

Crowley spent a lot of time over the next few weeks brooding on the sofa, getting his thoughts in order, occasionally quizzing Aziraphale on some aspect or other of their history together, as he mentally combed through thousands of years of memories, and consolidated them with the person he’d been putting together from fragments over the past weeks since his memories had been stolen.

The version of Crowley who he had pieced together with Aziraphale’s help wasn’t exactly the version of Crowley who had existed since the beginning of time, but he was finding ways to find peace between the two aspects of himself. Part of him was terrified every time he touched or kissed his angel, fearing as he had for millennia that he’d make him fall, but the other part of him, the newer part, knew that this was, to be frank, complete and utter bollocks. Aziraphale had quite forcefully demonstrated this particular point to him back at his Mayfair flat by putting the not inconsiderable might of his full angelic aspect into the explanation until Crowley’s fear of the angel’s power eclipsed his fear of whatever heaven or hell might have to say on the subject. Aziraphale was, as he had so eloquently put it: _un-fucking-fallen_ , despite all they had done together. The demon couldn’t help but grin at the memory now.

It had been several weeks since Crowley regained his memories when Aziraphale felt something unusual in the air. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, it was familiar but strange – strangely _compelling_. Crowley was still fast asleep in the flat above the bookshop, but something was drawing Aziraphale to go out and seek whatever was giving him a peculiar ethereal itch. A weird sensation of goodness, of kindness, and it attracted him like a magnet.

Conflicted, he went upstairs first to check on Crowley, but couldn’t bear to bring himself to wake the sleeping demon. Instead he wrote a quick note and placed it on the bedside table. “Popped out for supplies, back soon, love, your Angel.” He bustled back downstairs and out of the door, feeling for the sensation and following his senses deeper into London. He should have been wary, and perhaps he might have been, if the sensation hadn’t appeared so familiarly benign, welcoming and loving. The very fact it wasn’t threatening made his sense of self-preservation lie forgotten at the wayside. He never once paused to second guess what was going on.

The sensation was drawing him up the Euston Road, past Great Portland Street, toward a hospital, where amid the pain, confusion and despair of the many occupants, he felt a familiar and welcoming glow of love, relief and thankfulness. A sudden spike in the warmth that screamed “ _miracle_ ” made him stop and his eyes open wide in alarm as he _finally_ realised what it was.

It was another angel.

Someone was _here_ , on _his_ turf, no, his _ex_ -turf. He had to remember that: London, the UK, the world in general, was no longer his angelic responsibility. Of course now heaven had washed their hands of him, that meant that he’d been replaced. Someone new had come down to run things, to dispense miracles and other angelic duties. Aziraphale was curious despite himself, and pressed onwards. He could feel the other angelic being somewhere close by, and it still didn’t occur to him that whoever it was would likewise be able to feel him approaching too.

He opened the door to a ward, unchallenged by any staff, as he automatically projected an aura of belonging, as usual when venturing where perhaps he shouldn’t. He locked eyes with another being who, like him, didn’t belong. The other angel froze, eyes wide, cautious, staring at him. Their corporation appeared a similar apparent age to Aziraphale’s own, but they were just shy of 6 feet tall, with a feminine appearance, and beautiful darker skin not unlike Uriel’s, although their hair was longer and tied back neatly in a bunch of box braids interwoven with golden strands.

Aziraphale’s icy blue eyes gazed warily into the other angel’s warm brown ones, neither dared move. Neither was directly threatening the other, and although Aziraphale didn’t recognise the other angel, _they_ clearly understood who he must be, and were undecided on how to proceed. No doubt they’d been informed that there was an outcast, yet unfallen angel still hanging around, and presumably had been briefed on some course of action to take should they cross paths. Aziraphale wondered what course of action that might be.

It turned out that the correct procedure was _“do not engage, alert head office”,_ as they did nothing more than twitch their fingers slightly and remain standing stock still. Aziraphale wondered for a moment what that twitch might have signified, before he found out with an abrupt grab at the back of his collar that yanked him back and _out_ , out of this plane of existence entirely, so he was standing in a huge empty room in what was unmistakably heaven.

“Hello, sunshine…” a particularly unfriendly voice hissed in his ear.


	2. Angel Gone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale makes a shocking discovery, and pays the price. Crowley swears vengeance. TW/CW – graphic violence

Crowley’s eyes snapped open abruptly.

His angel wasn’t here.

The note on the bedside table may have been the first thing he laid eyes on, but it meant nothing to him. His angel wasn’t _here_. He hadn’t just popped out for supplies, he was gone.

* * *

Aziraphale felt the hand still firm on his collar, perfectly manicured strong fingers gripping him hard, hot breath on his neck as Gabriel grinned vindictively. “What d’you think you’re doing, Aziraphale?” he growled, managing to pronounce the angel’s name in the same way he might have uttered the word “scum”. Aziraphale swallowed, nervously, then was shoved viciously forward, losing balance, as Gabriel released his jacket with a malicious push, perhaps hoping Aziraphale would fall to his knees. He didn’t. He recovered his balance and straightened his clothing fussily, eyes flicking sideways as the archangel stalked around into his field of vision.

Aziraphale stood warily to attention and waited to see what Gabriel had to say. The archangel’s jaw was set firm, his lips a thin, disapproving line as he glared at the principality before him. “I see you’ve met your replacement, Fariel. What, exactly, were you hoping to achieve by tracking them down?” Aziraphale hesitated. “I wasn’t hoping to achieve _anything_. I was merely curious, I felt an angelic presence drawing me and found them. I didn’t intend them any harm.”

Gabriel glowered, clearly disbelieving. “You are to step _down_ , Aziraphale, you’ve interfered enough already with the fate of the world, I will _not_ have you corrupting my angels with your ridiculous nonsense. You fraternise with _demons_ for fucks sake. Heaven knows why She hasn’t made you fall yet.” Aziraphale tried not to smirk despite himself. _Un-fucking-fallen_. He felt a confidence that he probably shouldn’t be feeling by rights, given the situation.

Gabriel paced, irritated, glowering at the principality. “We have been very lenient with you, both of you, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Couldn’t just gracefully accept your reprieve and keep your heads down, stay out of my hair?” At this, he ran his fingers distractedly through his perfectly groomed locks with exasperation.

Aziraphale’s gaze was drawn to something familiar but out of place on the archangel with the movement. Peeking out from under the cuff of his smart powder blue-grey suit was the distinctive angular shape of a Devon watch, unmistakably the self-same one that Crowley had been wearing when he was abducted, which hadn’t been seen again since. His blue eyes widened briefly in surprise, and then narrowed suspiciously as he glared sidelong at Gabriel, mind racing with the implications of what he saw. He flexed his hands into fists and released them again, uncertain, anger rising.

He couldn’t stay silent. “Leave well enough alone? Stay out of _your_ hair?” he growled at the archangel. “What about you leaving US alone? Staying out of _our_ hair? Haven’t we earned some peace and quiet after all we’ve done for you, I obeyed your every whim for millennia, I was obedient, I was _good_ , I obeyed orders that heaven had no place demanding of me at all, unquestioningly, until you tried to destroy the whole world. And don’t you think…” He strode closer to the archangel as he continued on his rant, his fear replaced by righteous anger “… that given what we did in defying you, that if the Almighty didn’t want us to do it, She might have made me fall by now? That She’d have something to say about it all Herself?”

Those violet eyes burned into Aziraphale’s as he spoke, and Aziraphale suddenly felt far, far out of his depth. As if he’d stepped forward off the drop-off from a shallow beachside shoreline and felt the vast cavernous gulf of depth all the way to the abyss of the ocean floor below, where fearsome creatures lurked in the darkness. His anger had carried him forward, and now he realised just how foolish he was. He was a Cherub, a principality, a mere soldier, and here he was standing up to the highest archangel in the heavens, an unstoppable force of sheer power who chose to present a restrained image of civility thinly veneered in a fancy bespoke Savile Row suit. The illusion of civility that barely concealed the strength and overwhelming might of the most perfect celestial being ever created.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked back to the watch peeking out from under the cuff of Gabriel’s jacket. That was all it took. He didn’t even see the punch coming, it hit him out of nowhere with a rapid ferocity that knocked him to the floor insensible in a split second. It was the surprise of the archangel getting his own hands dirty for once that shocked him as much as anything else. Usually Gabriel got Sandalphon to do his enforcement for him. As it was, he was massaging his fist with his other hand, glaring down at Aziraphale with a certain degree of satisfaction. He snapped his fingers, then slid his sleeve up a little, gloating, as he revealed the watch properly.

“Nice little timepiece this. A souvenir, if you will. A little thank you for services rendered to our associates downstairs.” He grinned. “I assume you’ve seen what we did to him, yes?” Aziraphale gaped silently on the floor, his head thumping with pain from the savage blow, and turned his gaze as he heard footsteps, recognising Sandalphon’s feet approaching from the doorway in response to Gabriel’s snapped summons. Gabriel was gloating again. “Left your little demonic associate to fend for himself after wiping his brain. Let’s see how he copes with a human mind. We’ve done it before, now and then. They don’t tend to last. They get themselves discorporated on purpose after a while, we don’t replace the bodies of course, it’s a fun way to dispose of them and leave them in purgatory afterwards.”

Aziraphale’s head reeled – they didn’t _know_. They didn’t know that Crowley had regained his memories. He wondered how much else they had failed to notice, they couldn’t have been observing them too closely if they didn’t realise what had happened over the past few weeks. His train of thought was cruelly interrupted by the sudden meeting of Sandalphon’s boot with his abdomen, winding him and making him reflexively curl up into the foetal position. The angel stalked around him slowly, then kicked him savagely in the kidneys, making Aziraphale scream out. The next blow landed on the ribs next to his spine, and he felt something crack. Gabriel’s foot then slammed down on his left hand, crunching viciously on his digits and yanking another scream from his lips. He coughed, feeling a horrible tearing sensation in his lungs as he did, and coughed up blood on the floor.

They didn’t stop. “You WILL back off, you want to end up like him? You want Gabriel to wipe your memories too? If it wasn’t for Michael…” Sandalphon was hissing at him. Gabriel slapped Sandalphon suddenly. “Shut it you idiot.” Gabriel’s shoe met Aziraphale’s skull in a blinding blow that spun him backwards across the floor a few inches. Sandalphon’s boot crunched down on his kneecap, then Gabriel met Sandalphon’s gaze and shook his head, they stopped.

“Get this pathetic excuse for an angel out of here, I don’t want to see it again, we’re done here.” Gabriel turned on his heel and strode out. Sandalphon grinned down at Aziraphale, landed one final swift kick to his already tender abdomen with a wicked grin, then snapped his fingers and was gone.

Aziraphale found himself thankfully back in the hospital where he had started, the other angel long gone. A porter noticed him on the floor and gasped, rushing to help. Aziraphale was concussed and confused, aware only that a trolley was rattling toward him and gentle hands were checking him over, lifting him, soothing him and professional sounding voices were talking across him. He objected weakly as someone tried to cut his clothing off him, but was firmly pushed back by a monitoring nurse who was taking no nonsense. He passed out for a few minutes. Fortunately humans didn’t discern angelic blood as golden, and saw only what they expected, perceiving it as red like a human’s would be.

The next thing he heard was a loud commotion as hospital staff were shouting at someone. Doors were crashing and he felt a familiar wave of love reaching for him. “You can’t be in here, sir, I have to ask you to leave, you have to wait in reception…” “FUCK reception, where isss he?” Aziraphale smiled weakly “Crowley…” he whispered. Next thing he knew, a comforting hand was on his head, gently stroking his hair. A doctor was protesting. “SIR!” she yelled “I really must insist that you…” there was a snap and everything went still. All the staff in the room froze at once. Crowley was kissing his face gently. “Angel, Angel... what happened? Can you ssstill remember me? Did they do it to you too?” panic rising in his voice. Aziraphale nodded weakly. “Yes Crowley, yes of course I can remember, please, dearest you shouldn’t have done that, they need to work…” Crowley looked conflicted. He stared up into the eyes of the trauma team leader in the room. “I’m ssstaying. I’m hisss partner, you are ok with thisss.” The team leader nodded obediently, Crowley snapped his fingers and everything resumed. The team leader raised his voice over the hubbub. “It’s ok, this gent is his partner, he can stay. Sir, can the primary survey doctor get some details on your partner, please?”

Aziraphale smiled and relaxed back. He felt Crowley’s hand on his shoulder as he stood by the head of the bed, allowing the rest of the trauma team to work around him as he relayed contrived truths about the angel to the primary survey doctor who noted things down efficiently. Crowley couldn’t heal others, and Aziraphale wasn’t in much of a fit state to heal himself at present, so he allowed them to deal with his corporeal form, the procedure doctor placing lines in his veins to administer painkillers, rolling in a portable x-ray machine, as Crowley consented to step outside the room for a few seconds with the rest of the crew for the images to be taken. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hand rest back on his shoulder again and closed his eyes gratefully, feeling safe and, most importantly, _loved_. The love washed over him in powerful waves, feeding his angelic essence and soothing his pains more than the artificial opiates did. He’d let the doctors imagine that their work was doing the good stuff though, but Crowley was all he really needed.

It was a few hours later.

Aziraphale lay in a hospital bed in a private room, a hefty dose of demonic persuasion had led to substantial upgrades in care and given them some privacy. Crowley sat by his bedside, sitting awkwardly cross-legged in the chair of course, holding onto the angel’s uninjured hand gently, thumb running in ceaseless circles over the skin, avoiding the cannula. His expression was pained and worried. Aziraphale smiled back at him. “Please, Crowley, I’ll be ok. I just need to rest a bit then I should be able to start healing myself. Not as quickly as I could heal you of course, but I’ll be able to sort it out myself.”

Crowley was restless and got up to stalk around the room, his worry and love for the angel at odds with the sheer anger for those who had done this to him. Aziraphale pressed the buttons on his bed to sit up straighter and watch him. “Please sit down again, dearest.”

Crowley paced back and forth, his anger rising, a growl deep in his throat. His fists clenched and unclenched, clawing at nothing in frustration, his jaw tight, every muscle tense. Aziraphale looked on nervously. “Crowley, you’re frightening me.” The demon spun on him suddenly. “It’s not _you_ who should be frightened, Aziraphale, it’s those bassstards who did this to you!” On the last word, his wings spontaneously corporated behind him, spreading wide. Aziraphale’s jaw dropped.

He hadn’t seen fighting wings in millennia, not since the battles of Heaven against Hell. No one had drawn blades in thousands of years, most had forgotten, even Aziraphale had forgotten. He must still retain the ability, he told himself, but he wasn’t sure he’d remember how. Crowley’s appeared to be spontaneous, triggered by his sheer anger.

Whilst angel and demon wings are generally things of great beauty, naturally huge, composed of stunning soft feathers, they also had the ability to draw forth wings where the primary feathers were replaced by lethally sharp blades, used in hand-to-hand, or rather, wing-to-wing, or wing-to-any-vulnerable-body-part fighting. Swung in a wide arc around the combatant they provided a dangerous line of defence, able to dismember and decapitate anything that came within range.

In heaven, wing fighting techniques had been drilled into the Principality – not all angels could call forth bladed wings, but Cherubim could, as could many archangels and seraphim. They were taught all the defensive and offensive moves to use those bladed wings to most deadly effect. Aziraphale had never laid eyes on a demon’s bladed wings however, and Crowley’s also glowed with tiny flames of hellfire licking along the edge of each sharp feather.

He nervously flinched backwards, pressing into the pillows. Crowley looked alarmed, and ashamed. He stepped back, his wings dropping, he glanced down and noticed the flames, he looked aghast and quickly shivered his wings to banish the hellfire from his feathers. “I’m sorry, Angel, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you ok? Well, obviously you’re not ok, but you know I’d never hurt you, don’t you? I love you, Aziraphale.” The angel nodded and reached out to Crowley. Crowley folded his wings away again completely, and gently brought himself forward into the angel’s embrace, holding him as tenderly as he could, burying his face in the softness of his shoulder, breathing deep, protective, his anger still simmering underneath, but the fires banked for now, held in check until he could figure out how to wreak vengeance on whoever had hurt his angel. 

He breathed in Aziraphale’s warm, safe scent and began to calm. “I didn’t know I could still do that, Angel, must’ve been reflexive” he mumbled into his shoulder. Aziraphale stroked his back gently. “I don’t think _anyone_ still knows how to do that, I’m not sure _I_ could.” His mind whirled as he held Crowley close, drawing in his love to replenish his own strength. The implications of Crowley being able to draw forth bladed wings was a concept that the angel didn’t know how to wrap his head around right now, so he filed it away carefully for future consideration.

Crowley kissed him tenderly. “I’m staying here tonight, Angel, let’s get some rest, it might help you start healing yourself eh?” Aziraphale nodded. He knew that Crowley’s love was more of a factor than anything else, but nonetheless he reclined his bed back again and tried to get some sleep, if only to settle Crowley down somewhat. The demon snapped his fingers and the formerly uncomfortable upright hospital chair found itself inexplicably upgraded to a comfortable leather recliner. He lay back in it and snapped his fingers to dim the lights. Keeping hold of Aziraphale’s hand in his, Crowley smiled warmly at him. His eyes lambent in the dimly lit room, Crowley tried to relax too.


	3. How to Heal an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley nurses his Angel back to health, and vows to protect him better.

As they slept, somewhere in the dimly lit hospital corridors, something lurked, and a small shimmer of power radiated outwards. In Aziraphale’s room he twitched as he slumbered, feeling a soft glow suffusing his body, as his bones began to knit back together just a touch faster, and contusions faded a little more. The presence left.

* * *

Aziraphale woke in the small hours of the morning and gazed across lovingly at the demon crumpled in the recliner next to him, hissing gently in his sleep, his countenance peaceful and remarkably angelic. He smiled warmly at Crowley, noting that his slim fingers were still entwined in Aziraphale’s own, resting on the sheet. He squeezed his hand gently, and was rewarded by seeing a small smile crease the corners of Crowley’s lips, and his own hand tightened briefly in response, although he didn’t wake.

Aziraphale was mildly surprised that his body didn’t feel as bad as he expected. He still hurt, but he could feel that most of his bones were already knitting together well, much faster than he’d have thought possible, even with his angelic power, and Crowley’s love feeding him in gentle waves that bolstered his own mana. He flexed his left hand experimentally and winced. It still hurt, but it was well on its way to being fixed, all the tiny shattered bones coming together nicely. The doctors had said that complex hand surgery was a possibility, although Aziraphale knew it wouldn’t be necessary anyway. A human would never have been able to heal so well without serious intervention and time.

Aziraphale yawned and nodded off again, still smiling at his soft demon.

* * *

At morning nursing rounds, Crowley once again resisted being ousted from the room, the staff by now accepting that he was allowed to be wherever he liked. The nurse was pleasantly surprised at Aziraphale’s progress. A small miracle would be sufficient to distract the minds of those treating him from the fact he was going to discharge himself far earlier than any mortal would have been able to. Aziraphale waved away the police officer who came to interview him over the assault and they left feeling apparently content over whatever answer they thought they’d been given.

His shattered knee joint and torn cartilage was still lagging behind and not fully weight bearing, but his ribs had more or less fully healed, and his left hand well on its way to recovery. He remained in the hospital bed a while longer and tried to concentrate on healing some more, until he became tired with the effort and nodded off again, Crowley gently stroking his soft curls and murmuring encouragement in his ear. “You’re doing so well, love, don’t push it too hard, rest if you need to, Angel…”

When he woke it was to Crowley glaring at a tray of “lunch” on the over-bed table as the catering staff left the room. “You’re not eating this muck, Angel” Crowley growled, and snapped his fingers to banish the lot and replace it with something far more delectable, demonically heisted direct from the kitchens at the Savoy, where a confused waiter stared down at the plate of hospital food in his hands in utter bafflement.

Aziraphale gently admonished Crowley with a murmured “ _really_ , dearest…” but nonetheless gazed happily at the selection of fine foods now laid before him. His shattered left hand and cannula in his right would have made eating awkward but he needn’t have worried, as without prompting, Crowley seized the fork and lifted the first mouthful to his angel’s lips adoringly. Aziraphale smiled warmly and accepted the mouthful, allowing his lips to linger on the fork just a moment longer than necessary with a knowing glance into Crowley’s eyes in silent reward for the kindness. He knew that Crowley was going to enjoy this far more than was appropriate, and heaven knows he deserved it.

Crowley wriggled happily in his chair and didn’t hide his smile as he watched his angel enjoy every mouthful with content little noises of pleasure. He was thrilled that he no longer needed to conceal his appreciation for his angel’s eating habits, and steadily fed him forkful after forkful with increasing satisfaction for them both. Eventually he miracled the cheap instant coffee into something substantially better, and sat back to enjoy a cup himself while his angel sat back and relaxed, setting his mind to more healing again.

The nursing staff were briefly surprised later that afternoon to see Mr Fell limping down the corridor with assistance of a stick in his right hand and his partner supporting his left arm without putting any pressure on his still bandaged left hand. A brief wave from Crowley however banished any misgivings from the hospital staff as they left the building after the angel discharged himself from their care. Aziraphale took a breather on a bench outside the entrance as Crowley went to fetch the Bentley to drive them home.

Every additional act of love from the demon – the lunch, supporting him to the exit, the extra gentle drive home, released more strong waves of love that bolstered the angel’s power and accelerated his healing even more. By the time he was safely ensconced in his own bed back in the bookshop he felt immeasurably better and his knee was barely aching. His left hand was able to flex with a certain amount of stiffness, but the bones were definitely mended. Even as Crowley kissed him as he laid him back in his comfortable bed, he could feel his very bones glowing with contentment and warmth.

“Stay with me, dearest” Aziraphale whispered. “You’re helping more than you know, my darling.” Crowley nodded “Of course, Angel. Shift over a bit.” He snapped his fingers to undress them both, then snuggled under the duvet and gently wound his arms around Aziraphale, resting his head on his chest now he knew that the angel’s ribs were healed up. Aziraphale sighed happily and fed off the waves of love that spilled out of Crowley with every breath. They nodded off again held in each other’s arms.

He awoke a couple of hours later feeling refreshed, Crowley still snoring softly on his chest. He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to the demon’s shock of red hair. Crowley stirred and snuggled tighter, nuzzling into the angel’s warm skin with a contented little happy noise. Aziraphale stroked him tenderly. “Thank you, my love. I think you’ve fixed me now.” Crowley lifted his head to meet his gaze. “s’not gonna stop me cuddling you, Angel” he grinned. “Of course not, dearest, do carry on, but I’m a tad peckish again. It takes it out of you, this healing lark.” Crowley perked up immediately and lifted a hand theatrically, ready to snap. “Anything for you Angel, stuff _just eat_ , what does my Angel desire? It’s yours.” Aziraphale giggled. “I’m feeling a little old fashioned, how about that delicious Mesopotamian dish we used to enjoy at Aradh’s place way back when?”

Crowley paused a moment, thinking. “Yes, I think they still make something similar nowadays, I’m sure I can find somewhere cooking something like it. It had the soft bread crust and all the rice and pine nuts with the succulent spiced mutton in the middle didn’t it? Stuffed vine leaves around the outside. They do something similar in rural Turkey nowadays hang on…” He concentrated a moment, eyes closed, and then snapped his fingers.

An enormous engraved copper dish appeared on the bed before them, a ring of spiced rice, olives, aubergines and stuffed vine leaves surrounded a centre of crisp but spongy bread crust broken open in a cloud of steam spilling out lumps of fragrant soft slow cooked mutton and pine nuts and vegetables and more rice that had soaked up the juices during cooking. Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with delight and inhaled deeply. “That smell just takes me back a few thousand years, doesn’t it you, dear?” Crowley nodded with satisfaction. He rarely ate, but decided to make an exception today and join the angel in a little nibble here and there. He tore off a piece of bread in his right hand and used it to scoop up a mouthful of the dish to feed his angel in the traditional manner, then took a smaller bite for himself, savouring the medley of flavours fondly.

“I liked you with your long hair, you know” Aziraphale commented after a while. “It cascaded beautifully over your shoulders, you looked so… angelic.” He hesitated on the last word, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind, he just looked at the angel with mild interest as he nibbled at the food delicately. “Hmm? Want me to grow it out again, Angel?” Aziraphale considered for a moment. “Not necessarily. I do love your hair short and spiky like this as well, and you haven’t worn it short for very long, I’m happy for you to keep it like this a few decades longer if you like. It’s just that this food reminded me of you back then. I always wanted to let you know how beautiful you looked at the time but didn’t dare. I wanted to let you know now.” Crowley blushed slightly despite himself, and ran his hands through his short red hair, ruffling it up. “Thanks, Angel. Yeah I like it like this for now too. Good to know how you felt back then though.”

“You’ve always looked beautiful to me, Crowley, no matter what your appearance.” Crowley looked away in an uncharacteristic display of shyness. “You too, Angel. Except, possibly as a gardener. That one was a little hard to feel absolutely enamoured with. Not impossible, mind, but not easy.” He grinned and winked. Aziraphale batted at him playfully. “I couldn’t be working in close proximity with you in that situation and have you falling over your own tongue every time you talked to me around the humans, dearest.” Crowley laughed. “Point taken.”

When Aziraphale had had his fill, Crowley discreetly miracled the remainders away into the fridge for later. “Feeling up to a little wander around the shop, Angel? Test out that knee a bit?” Aziraphale nodded and stood hesitantly. He was pleasantly surprised to find everything working smoothly with only the barest ache here and there which would no doubt be gone by morning. “I’ve never healed that fast before, Crowley. Even with your attention it seemed unusually quick. Not that I’m complaining, mind.” Crowley looked puzzled but said nothing. He snapped them both fully dressed, and watched his angel negotiate the stairs down to the bookshop then followed, went through to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on for tea, brewed a couple of mugs then brought them through to where Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa waiting for him. “What book would you like, Angel?” Aziraphale sipped the proffered tea gratefully and considered. “There should be a Rudyard Kipling over on my desk there, could you pass that over please, dearest?”

Crowley handed him the dusty tome and snuggled down next to him on the sofa in a tangle of limbs, wrapping his legs around the seated angel and sipping his tea contentedly. The demon scrolled through his phone as the angel flipped pages idly, both utterly relaxed. Crowley reached out with one hand and ran it through Aziraphale’s soft curls in a gentle repetitive motion as he browsed. Aziraphale tipped his head slightly into the tender touch as he read, a faint smile on the corner of his lips.

Aziraphale sighed with contentment and happened to let his gaze fall across to Crowley’s phone. His eyes flew wide in alarm. “CROWLEY! What on _earth_ are you doing?” The demon’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “What? You didn’t think I’d forgotten what all this is about did you, Angel? I’m still going to get the fuckers.” Aziraphale stared in horror at the browser full of tips about improvised booby traps and weaponry that the demon was scrolling through with careful consideration. “But what in heaven’s name are you _planning_ , Crowley?” Aziraphale demanded. “Whatever I can, Angel. I’m not letting them hurt you again, _ever_.” The last word was a low growl that made the hairs stand up on the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale sat back, concern etched into every line of his face. “Crowley, please, _don’t_. One demon against all of heaven? I can’t let you do it, they’d destroy you somehow, please my love, tell me you won’t do anything stupid.” Crowley smirked, no humour was to be found in that expression however. “Of course Angel: you won’t do anything stupid.” Aziraphale glared at him. “You know fine well what I meant, Crowley. I don’t want you risking yourself for something dangerous like this.” His voice softened as his gentle blue eyes sought reassurance in Crowley’s golden ones. “… I’ve lost you already and I couldn’t bear it to happen again.”

Crowley grunted. “And _I’ve_ lost you, Angel. You forget that. And _I’m_ not letting that happen again either, you mean just as much to me and I refuse to go on existing without you here either.” It was a stalemate. Crowley groaned and tipped his head back on the sofa. “You know neither of us is going to relent on this, Angel, so rather than futilely trying to persuade me to drop it, how about you maximise my chances of success by working with me instead?” Aziraphale’s lips were a tight, thin line of obstinacy. “Out of the question. We are _not_ having this conversation, Crowley.” The demon rolled his eyes at him and crossed his arms across his chest, huffing a snort of derision. He untangled his legs from the angel and sat brooding instead, contemplating his course of action.

“Whether you’re on board or not, I’m going to do whatever it takes to protect you, Angel, whether you _like_ it or not, whether you _help_ me or not, I don’t care. Wait, no. That’s not strictly true…” He turned to Aziraphale and pulled a white feather from his top pocket, holding it up in front of the angel’s eyes. “I _do_ care. You know I do. I’m yours, you’re mine, I’ll do anything for you, you know that, and nothing is going to stop me.”

Aziraphale’s hand fluttered up to his own jacket pocket to touch the fabric lightly. A matching black feather rested in there, above his heart, kept miraculously perfect at all times. His eyes flickered up to meet Crowley’s again and he understood. He relented. “Well if I can’t deter you from this foolish course of action, my darling, I beg you, please, _please_ be careful, my love. You know I can’t live without you, I simply _can’t_.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and Crowley, seeing them, bit his lip in regret. He couldn’t bear to see his angel cry. He fell forward to pull him into a tender embrace, tears pricking at his own eyes. “I’m so sorry, Angel, but I have to protect you, I have to. I’ve failed at it so many times but I can’t sit here and do nothing. I’m unforgivable, and I absolutely could never even try to forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to protect you.”

Crowley’s lips met the angel’s gently, and he felt Aziraphale’s soft hands in his hair and on his jaw, pulling him closer, holding him tight, feeling the warmth of his soft body against Crowley’s own lean, hard angles. The demon didn’t want to let go, crushing himself close to his angel, until they lost balance and they fell together sidelong on the sofa, Aziraphale gazing down into Crowley’s face below him. He paused to admire the elegant beauty before him, tracing a finger along the hard line of Crowley’s jaw, then leaning forward to kiss him again, then kissing along his jaw, up to the serpent sigil on his cheek. When his mouth pressed against it, he felt it squirm under his lips, a sensation echoed in Crowley’s body under his own. Crowley hissed gently and craned his head around to kiss urgently at Aziraphale’s neck, occasionally nipping softly at his skin.

One hand pulled at the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt sliding a few buttons undone, exposing more of that pale neck, and he continued to kiss down it as the angel’s hands grasped in his red hair. He reached the delicate clavicle and kissed harder, nipping and then sucking a delicious love bite into the soft skin there as the angel moaned above him. “Please, my dear. Will you make love to me?” Crowley ceased his trail of kisses and looked up at him adoringly. “Of course love, anything for you, Angel.” They sat up, Crowley stood, bent down, and scooped up Aziraphale in his arms, carrying him easily back up the stairs to the bedroom, kissing him as they ascended, and laying him gently down on the bed again.

“Just let me know if anything is too much, Angel.” Aziraphale nodded. “I’m feeling fine now, dear boy. Please just love me.” Crowley nodded. “Always.”


	4. Choose your own adventure (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like to leave the explicit chapter(s) out, and have them as separate optional extras. here's the sexy interval option page.

As in some of my other fics, I’m leaving the erotic chapter(s) as optional extras to the main story, so if you prefer not to read explicit content you can skip over it and carry on with the SFW story.

If, however, you’d like to read about the ineffable husbands enjoying each other’s bodies more intimately, you can click [**HERE**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070023) to view the NSFW chapter as a standalone work.

At the end of it will be a link taking you back to this story at the next SFW chapter, which you can view by clicking [ **HERE**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069864/chapters/52669699), or simply clicking “next chapter” as normal.


	5. Demon at the door.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley get a rude awakening with an unpleasant surprise, and seek help. More help comes from an unexpected quarter.

They were woken by a scream in the early hours of the morning. Crowley was bolt upright in a split second, eyes wide, teeth bared and adrenaline immediately coursing through his veins. He ran to the window, Aziraphale shot to his feet as well, alarm in every line of his body. The window looked out over the street by the front door, and in the gloom illuminated only by the orange glare of the street lights, Crowley saw a demon staggering around clutching at his burning hand, screaming in pain. Crowley hissed, Aziraphale joined him at the window.

Fortunately the demon in the street was in too much pain to bother looking up to see them. It regained enough self-awareness to snap itself away and disappeared. Crowley let out a sigh of relief. “Well at least we know the ward works, Angel. At least against demons. But that was too close. Now they know we know, as it were. I’m not happy that my side have come here though. They’ve not infiltrated the bookshop before, which tells me your lot are definitely sharing information.”

Aziraphale was dressing himself, expression grim. “So what do you propose we do, Crowley?” Crowley grabbed his own trousers and wriggled into them with a grunt of effort, then remembered he didn’t have to and snapped the rest of his clothing into place. “Dunno, Angel. We need somewhere like neutral ground for breathing space. I can’t rest here knowing the fuckers are going to keep coming after us. Yes the demons won’t be keen to return, but unless you know a similar ward to keep your lot out, we’re sitting ducks.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.” Crowley picked up the angel’s bowtie and began tying it on his lover affectionately. Aziraphale stilled at the unusual display of care and smiled. Crowley didn’t appear to notice, it was as if the action were a natural one he’d always done, which he hadn’t. It touched the angel however that simply helping him dress were the most everyday thing his demon thought to do for him, on autopilot as it were. Crowley’s mind was elsewhere however.

He tightened the knot then his hands stilled, his eyes darting around the room, brows furrowed in thought. “Neutral ground…” he was pensive. “Angel, I think I may have an idea...” Aziraphale donned his shoes and coat, and followed Crowley downstairs. “We’re going to visit Avnendra” Crowley stated. Aziraphale paused. He didn’t recognise the name, but with an understanding of all the languages of the world from his thousands of years inhabiting it, he understood the meaning of the name. “Angel of God on Earth”. He looked curiously at the demon. “Is that a name, or a description?” Crowley grinned. “Both. Come on.” He waved the bookshop doors open and strode out to the Bentley at the kerb as the light of dawn finally broke over London.

They headed out Westward through Acton, Ealing and Hanwell, out on the Uxbridge road until they were in the chaotic streets of Southall. Crowley started darting down side streets until they found themselves parked outside a Hindu temple. Crowley stilled the engine and smiled across at Aziraphale. “Got a friend here who might be able to help us out.” They headed for a side door to the impressive building, Crowley wandered in without knocking and headed down a corridor. “Crowley, wait, we’re in a temple, aren’t your feet burning?” Crowley shook his head. “Hindu temple, not a church, doesn’t hurt. It’s not meant to keep me out, different pantheon, see?” he winked a sly smile. Understanding dawned on Aziraphale’s face.

They came to an office door and Crowley knocked politely. “Come in” a friendly female voice called out. It turned out to be a pleasant looking Indian woman in her 40s with stunningly beautiful dark eyes, sitting behind a desk, who turned from her computer and smiled warmly at them. “Crowley, my dear, good morning, what brings you here? And who is your companion?” Crowley removed his shades and smiled back. “Hi Aashirya, we’re here to see Avnendra, is he about? This is my friend Aziraphale, he’s one of us, well, you, well, you know…” her smile widened as she beamed in welcome at the angel and shook his hand. “Of course. Avnendra is upstairs, I’ll go and get him. Would you like some tea?” Crowley nodded. “Yes please, had a bit of a startle, pretty sure my angel wouldn’t say no to some chai.” Aashirya nodded and indicated that they should take a seat then bustled out.

Aziraphale raised his eyes at the demon. “Aashirya – ‘from the land of god’?” Crowley nodded. They’re Devas. Kind of like you I suppose, but Hindu, working here like we were. They’re sort of like brother and sister, at least that’s how they present their corporations here on Earth.” Aziraphale nodded understanding. Shortly Aashirya returned bearing a tray with some cups of spiced chai, followed by a gentleman in a smart suit who appeared to be in his early 50s, with a greying beard and kind eyes. “Crowley, my dear friend, what brings you here? It’s been decades.” He reached out to embrace him fondly. Aziraphale tried to conceal his surprise. Just when he thought he knew everything there was to know about the demon, he pulled out a surprise like this. “Hi Avnendra, long time no see, sorry about that, been a bit busy recently, and got into a spot of bother as well.”

Aashirya passed out cups of chai and they settled down companionably. “Yes…” Avnendra began. “Nasty business with that Armageddon nonsense…” He looked disapprovingly at the angel and demon over his tea. Crowley looked contrite. “Yeah, sorry about that, it kind of kept us busy for a while, we were trying to stop it, not our fault.” The deva snorted. “I should hope not, I’m glad you got it sorted, but your pantheon certainly put a few noses out of joint with all that business.” Crowley bit his lip nervously. “That’s kind of what led to our current predicament. We disobeyed orders,” the Deva’s eyebrows shot skyward at this point. “We defied both our sides and as a result they tried to kill us. We pulled off a bit of a stunt that foiled that plan, but all it did was piss them off to be frank, and now they’re out to try to punish us in other ways. They kidnapped me and wiped my mind. Aziraphale helped me recover, but then his side recently ambushed him as well, gave him a good going over as a warning. Then tonight one of my lot tried to come for both of us.”

Avnendra looked serious. “I hope you’re not bringing trouble here, Crowley.” Crowley shook his head quickly. “No, that’s the point really. They wouldn’t dare cause a cross-pantheon political incident by infringing on your temple to get to us. I wanted to ask if we might hide out here for a couple of days while we figure out what we’re going to do about it?” He looked pleadingly at the Deva.

Aashirya exchanged a glance with her brother, who sat deep in thought for a moment, sipping his tea. “How certain are you that your lot won’t try anything while you’re here?” Crowley shrugged. “Well I’d be lying if I said I was absolutely certain, but I don’t see how they’d want to risk it. Please don’t say yes unless you’re sure though.” The Deva thought a bit more. Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze uncertainly, and was rewarded with a comforting squeeze of his thigh. Aashirya noticed the gesture and smiled fondly at them both. She could also feel love, and what she felt from the angel and demon warmed her through. She met her brother’s eyes again with a meaningful look. He nodded.

“Very well, there’s a room upstairs that is at your disposal for the next 48 hours, never let it be said that I turned away a friend from my hospitality.” He smiled warmly at them both. Aziraphale beamed at him “Oh, thank you, we’re terribly grateful.” Avnendra waved his hand dismissively “It is nothing, my friend, don’t mention it.”

After joining their hosts for breakfast, Aziraphale set about helping prepare lunches for the local homeless population in the kitchen alongside others in the temple, and Crowley helped clear the dining area and wash up. Afterwards Aziraphale was introduced to the library and settled down with more chai and several older texts to take his mind off things. There wasn’t a language barrier to stop him given the breadth of his knowledge from thousands of years travelling the globe. Crowley in the meantime considered their options. They had a brief reprieve, but they couldn’t squander their breathing space. It seemed clear now that heaven and hell were working together to try to take the pair of them down somehow. What he needed to do was to ambush Gabriel somehow – skip straight past any underlings and push the point home to the archangel directly.

The problem was, without being able to get into heaven, how the hell would be able to gain access to Gabriel? He paced up and down, on edge and wracking his brain for a plan. He was no further forward by that evening when he curled up next to Aziraphale in the small room they’d been given and tried to get some rest as the angel read in the dim light next to him. He held his angel close, breathing his warm, comforting scent, his nose pressed close to his soft skin, and drew comfort from the closeness.

Aziraphale reached out with one hand to stroke Crowley’s red hair soothingly, occasionally pausing to turn a page before resuming the stroking, feeling the demon’s breaths slow as he drifted off to sleep, and smiled to himself. He pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s forehead, and saw a content smile suffuse his features with satisfaction.

After a few hours, Aziraphale began to shift uneasily, unsure what was making him uncomfortable, but a familiar sensation was pricking at his skin. He laid the book aside, a look of concern etched across his face, muscles tense. Crowley’s quiet voice cut through the silence as he whispered up at him. “What’s wrong, Angel?” Crowley had been woken by the tenseness of his angel against him and the sense of unease radiating off him. “I’m not sure” he whispered back, thinking. It was a peculiar aura impinging on his awareness, and getting slowly stronger, as if whatever it was, it was getting incrementally closer.

Crowley slid upright, muscles coiled and tense for fight or flight, watchful, hands held claw-like and tense. Aziraphale flexed his muscles and rose to his feet as well, a quick snap dressing him instantly. That was when he realised what it was. The minor pulse of power from the tiny miracle _reflected_ off something and the sensation bounced back at him. He recognised the sensation and immediately regretted the frivolous miracle, as it had clearly just drawn attention to his location more clearly.

The sensation he had felt was similar to when he had sensed Fariel at the hospital. But more watchful, cautious. They were nearby, not projecting any aggression, but curiosity. They were somewhere in the area, and presumably seeking him out. Aziraphale looked across at Crowley who was looking out of the window, on edge. “Crowley, I think it’s Fariel, they’re nearby, I can’t feel any other angels, just them. Are you sure we’re safe here?” Crowley remained silent. He hoped so, but he didn’t dare trust his own judgement completely when it came to the safety of his angel any more.

His superb night vision finally saw a shape walk down the dark street outside, and come to a stop just outside the gates to the temple. It faced the building, raised one hand slowly in the air, and very deliberately, snapped once. Crowley flinched.

A white piece of cloth appeared in the middle of their room and fluttered to the floor. Crowley flicked his gaze across at it warily, surprised, but didn’t dare allow his attention to linger on it more than a split second, trusting Aziraphale to deal with it, returning his watchful look to the shape of the angel standing outside. Aziraphale stared at the cloth on the floor in puzzlement, and reached out to nudge it cautiously with his foot. “What on earth…?” Crowley didn’t take his eyes off the shape of Fariel on the street. “What is it, Aziraphale?” Aziraphale pondered for a moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a flag of truce.” Crowley snorted in derision. “A fucking trap, more like.”

Aziraphale shook his head slowly, although Crowley couldn’t see with his back to him. “I’m not sure, I can only sense Fariel out there, they’re alone, and they’re not coming any closer are they?” Crowley shook his head. “Just standing there. Creeping me out.” He stood a little straighter. “What should we do, Angel?” Aziraphale looked lost. “Well there’s two of us and one of them, should we talk do you suppose?” Crowley shrugged. “Go and get Avnendra, I’ll stay here and watch.”

Avnendra arrived back in the room shortly with Aziraphale and studied the white flag carefully, before gazing out of the window with Crowley at the angel standing on the road. “I’ll go and talk to them as a go-between, find out what they want, you two stay here.” He lifted the cloth and carried it outside with him as the angel and demon watched, apprehensively, from the window. The Deva crossed the empty car park, flag held loosely at his side, approaching Fariel cautiously, and nodded at them as one professional to another.

“I am like you, my friend” he called out in a low voice as he approached. “You are an angel, I am Deva, what do you seek here?” Fariel dipped their head in greeting. “You know who you have inside with you?” Avnendra nodded. “What are they to you?” Fariel’s eyes darted around, nervous. “I saw what they did to him, I didn’t ask them to – he didn’t do anything to me. I’m sorry, can you tell him I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for that to happen, I just did what I was told and alerted Gabriel, I didn’t know what they’d do to him.” Avnendra nodded slowly. “I can do that, is there anything else?”

Fariel hesitated. “I want to help, if I can, without getting in trouble. Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone they’re here. It’s just me. Can you tell him I came back to the hospital afterwards, I used a bit more of a miracle to help him heal faster, I wanted to help. While I was there I could pass that one off as just helping some human in the hospital, they needn’t have known it was Aziraphale.” Avnendra was surprised, but nodded again. “Of course, I will tell him. Is there a way we could get Gabriel on earth?” Fariel thought for a moment. They were on edge, nervous of being caught the longer they stayed. “Frivolous miracles” they hissed, conspiratorially, and fled.


	6. Miracles, feathers and promises.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate drags Crowley and Aziraphale back to somewhere familiar, and Aziraphale discovers an aspect of it he hadn’t seen before. They set about learning a few things about their new situation, and remember a promise left uncompleted.

Crowley watched the Deva return across the car park and re-enter the building with growing apprehension, not knowing what they had been talking about. A moment later, Avnendra returned to their room. “It’s alright, my friends, they came in peace. I sensed no untruths from their form.” He relayed the conversation with Fariel. Aziraphale listened in surprise to the revelation. “Good to know _they’re_ not against us, at least.” Crowley interjected. “Frivolous miracles?” Aziraphale nodded. “Remember the Bastille, love? If I do too much that’s not strictly necessary, Gabriel can pick up on it. Perhaps that’s the key to getting his attention, needling him enough to make another appearance, on our own terms, on our own ground, where we can get him – that is, if you still insist on going through with whatever plan you have, dearest.” He spoke disapprovingly, but Crowley was right, he wouldn’t be dissuaded from his course of action, so the best Aziraphale could do was at least try to assist to reduce the chance of anything going wrong.

“So, where are we choosing? What’s the celestial equivalent to the high ground?” Aziraphale asked after a pause. Crowley considered. “Somewhere that my power will be strongest, and his weakest. I have an idea, but it’ll also mean that you won’t be able to help much once we’re inside, Angel.” Aziraphale looked at him questioningly. “Besides,” the demon continued. “What I have in mind is the kind of thing that you don’t want to get too close to either.”

Eschewing sleep, they thanked their hosts and left, taking the Bentley heading out on the M40 out of London, toward Oxford again, a now familiar route, the slowly dawning sun at their backs casting a golden glow over them. Crowley’s expression was grim and determined, Aziraphale’s anxious. “Are we heading where I think we’re heading, Crowley?” The demon nodded, jaw set firm. “Tadfield again. We seem to keep getting pulled back to that damned place. Literally damned in this instance. Remember the convent?” Aziraphale nodded “of course, the paintball centre.” Crowley nodded back. “Well not any more, it got shut down after the gun incident. It’s empty now, but still useful.”

Aziraphale was confused. “Useful how?” Crowley gave a grim smile. “It was a S _atanic_ convent, Angel. With a Satanic temple in its walls. I didn’t take you in that part. That bit of the building did, ironically, survive the fire, with a bit of damage. The rest was obviously restored for the corporate training centre, but now it’s just shut up as far as I’ve heard. We know the ground, and it’s _my_ ground. _My_ place.” Aziraphale understood. They swept on along the motorway a while longer before plunging headlong down twisting, winding back roads until the familiar sight of the old convent hove into view.

Crowley stepped from the Bentley, watchful, taking in their surroundings. The red brick buildings were mostly boarded up, metal mesh security fencing around some areas, builder’s skips, signs of restoration work going on here and there, and a sign proclaiming “COMING SOON! Convent House Hotel and luxury spa!” It didn’t look like work was progressing very quickly. He stalked across the un-mowed lawn and the ornate metal gate opened at his touch.

Aziraphale followed, warily. He could still feel the love in the Tadfield area that flowed out from Adam Young at the centre of it all, covering the entire countryside, encapsulated in a bubble of rural idyllic perfection powered by the Antichrist, or reformed Antichrist, whatever he was nowadays. The Convent however just felt empty. There were no humans here now, but as before he didn’t feel anything amiss. That was, until Crowley ripped a piece of plywood off a doorway, unlocked the door with a touch and led him through a series of corridors to a pair of doors near the back of the rambling buildings.

Aziraphale paused, apprehension rising in his chest, a wave of uneasiness flooding up through his feet as they stood before the double doors. Crowley stopped and watched him carefully, as the angel reached out a hand tentatively to touch the dark oak door, recoiling slightly at the sensation from within. It didn’t hurt, but it was not welcoming. “So this is it, I suppose?” he asked, tightly. Crowley nodded, apologetic.

“It’s not hurting you is it?” Aziraphale shook his head slowly, “no, but it’s not pleasant. It’s hard to describe.” Crowley placed a gentling hand on the angel’s arm. “If you’re ok with this, I’d like to do some tests, get you to tell me how things feel, so I can get an idea of how this might work on Gabriel, is that ok?” Aziraphale met his worried gaze. “Of course, Crowley. I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Carry on.” Crowley nodded, and pushed the door open. Aziraphale stepped through behind him, and shuddered at the dark writhing resistance he felt in the pit of his stomach. Something didn’t want him here, it was making him feel distinctly unwelcome, watched. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. It didn’t hurt, but it was like nails on the chalkboard of his soul, a whole-body wince. It made him want to _run_.

Crowley watched his angel carefully, hating that he was having to put his love through this. He could see Aziraphale diminish somehow, seem smaller, the feeling of power simmering underneath his gentle form not quite so apparent. Crowley, on the other hand felt like he’d just taken ten espressos washed down with a packet of pro plus and a six pack of energy drinks, probably with several shots of vodka thrown in for good measure. He could feel the remnants of decades of satanic worship that lingered in the very fabric of the building surging up through his corporeal form, feeding whatever demonic equivalent had replaced his soul. His fingers tingled and the tips of his hair crackled with raw power. He shuddered in delight and tried to focus his attention on the task in hand with difficulty.

“How do you feel, Angel?” he asked with concern. Aziraphale lifted his gaze to meet Crowley’s. “Weak. Worthless, a bit overwhelmed, if you must know.” He looked miserable. Tears welled in Crowley’s eyes at the sight. “I’m so sorry, Angel, let’s get you out of here, I’m sorry, I should never have brought you here…” He rushed to his side to envelop him in a protective embrace. Aziraphale lifted both hands, palms out, resisting. “No, Crowley, lets finish this, tell me what you need, I’m staying until you’ve got what you need to know. Tell me what to do.”

Crowley gulped, hating himself. “You’re sure?” Aziraphale nodded, tightly. “Yes, carry on, let’s get this over with, dearest.” Crowley stepped back. “Simple miracle first, light?” Aziraphale nodded and snapped his fingers. The familiar ball of light illuminated above their heads, but noticeably dimmer than usual. After a few moments it dimmed and snapped out on its own accord. Crowley nodded. It was a promising start. “Ok, see if you can miracle that table over there, move it, drag it across the floor or something.” The angel nodded, stared at it and concentrated, then snapped his fingers. The first time nothing happened, and a brief look of alarm crossed his face, then he set his jaw, concentrated and tried again. The second time the heavy oak table dragged itself ponderously across the parquet wooden floor with a protesting screeching groan, moving about 12 feet before it ground to a halt and Aziraphale doubled over, sweat beading on his brow.

Crowley was stunned at just how much the place seemed to be sapping his angel’s power. True, Aziraphale was a cherubim, not an archangel, Gabriel wouldn’t necessarily be as affected as Aziraphale, but every little helped. He saw Aziraphale stand straight again and glare at the table, hand poised to have another try. He rushed forwards to embrace him again. “Angel, no, please, don’t try again, it’s ok, and we’ve got the idea…” he wrapped Aziraphale in his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt the angel jolt in his hands, heard a snap then a crash. He broke off the kiss in alarm and his head shot up, to see the table, smashed to a pile of kindling against the far wall.

Both angel and demon stared at it in shock, and then each other. “Wha…?” Crowley began. Comprehension flooded over Aziraphale. “I was about to snap when you kissed me, Crowley.” Crowley’s mind whirled. “You… you were?” he responded, weakly, trying to understand. “Yes, Crowley, then you kissed me and your power came through to me, the _love_. You must be feeding off the demonic power in the building, but it converts into love through the kiss and that feeds _me_.” Crowley’s jaw dropped. “Oh… OH!” He looked around the room, possibilities flying through his mind. Aziraphale grinned at him, that ‘just enough of a bastard’ grin with a touch of the demonic on the edges of it.

“Let me try something.” Aziraphale said, and took Crowley’s hand, then snapped with his other in the direction of a pile of stacked chairs. They wobbled. “Oh.” He looked disappointed. Crowley had an idea. He looked across at his angel and whispered “I love you.” Aziraphale felt the little golden wave travel up his arm at the words and snapped again. This time the pile of chairs flew up into the air in a cyclone of furniture before crashing to the ground. He smiled grimly. “Crowley, dearest, you’re a demonic power converter.” He laughed and pulled his demon close, crushing their lips together. Crowley returned the kiss happily. They broke off. “We might just have a chance here, Angel” he winked at him. Daring to hope.

“Another test” Crowley declared, releasing his hold on Aziraphale and taking a step backwards, nodding at the pile of chairs, then meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. “I love you” he declared, pushing all his feeling into the words, hoping the sensation might cross the air between them or the floor underneath them, or something. Aziraphale snapped, a few chairs moved and re-stacked neatly, but the rest remained in an untidy pile. “It’s easier, but not as strong as when you’re touching me” Aziraphale commented. Crowley took a few more steps backwards and they tried again. This time only one chair moved. Distance weakened the connection. The overwhelming residue of demonic worship in the room drowned it out when they weren’t in direct contact. At least now they knew their limitations. It was already a lot better than Crowley had ever dared hope.

“Let’s take a breather, Angel” he led the way to the fire door and kicked the emergency exit bar with a foot, stilling the alarm with a wave of his hand and they stepped out into the overgrown garden at the back of the building into the warm sunshine. As soon as Aziraphale left the temple he felt the strength slowly ebb back into his body, warming his bones as much as the sun did. He experimentally snapped his fingers and the unruly grass became perfectly manicured lawn without any effort. He smiled and they sank down onto the grass together. He looked back through the open fire exit door and tried another experiment. He snapped in the direction of the room, aiming to move some more of the discarded furniture, but nothing happened. Ok. So his power couldn’t breach the room from the outside at all, like a Faraday cage, the demonic worship it was steeped in blocking any outside angelic influences. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything different really.

He snapped again and a tartan picnic blanket materialised underneath the pair of them. They lay back and gazed at the sky. Crowley was aware that what they were about to try was not without a great deal of risk. A knot of apprehension sat in the pit of his stomach, but the fear of what might happen if they _didn’t_ at least try was just as bad. They were almost literally damned if they did, damned if they didn’t. He felt Aziraphale reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He removed his shades and tipped his head to one side to gaze into those angelic blue eyes.

“I’m scared, Angel.”  
Aziraphale nodded. “Understandable.”  
“I’m not scared for me, I’m scared of losing you.”  
“I know, and the feeling is mutual, dearest.”

Aziraphale rolled over onto his side and studied Crowley’s face carefully, reaching out to stroke down his cheek. As his fingers brushed over the serpent sigil, Crowley shivered, feeling it writhe under the touch, and a delicious tingle sizzled down his spine. They were painfully aware of what was at stake, that this might be the last chance they got to be together, if it all went wrong. Aziraphale bent forwards over Crowley, and his soft lips brushed Crowley’s gently, feather-light. Crowley closed his eyes blissfully at the kiss and he exhaled slowly, tension leaving his body somewhat as he breathed out.

He opened his eyes again to see his angel still gazing down at him lovingly, drinking him in with his eyes. Aziraphale reached forward again and kissed his lover slowly, deeply, pouring his love through the contact again like warm golden light, suffusing their bodies and filling every part of them. Crowley’s body responded in kind and fed his love back up through the contact, feeding the angel’s power, and redoubling the sensation he felt back, each of them feeding the other until it became unbearable, overwhelming and they broke off, gasping. Aziraphale glowed, the golden aura around his body visible despite the brightness of the day. Crowley smiled up at him, he’d never seen his angel more beautiful than at that moment. He wanted to remember it forever.

Aziraphale took a breath, then leant forward again and softly kissed Crowley’s forehead, the demon closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation, as the angel slowly pressed more soft warm kisses to the tip of his nose, to each cheek, to his chin, over his eyelids, down his jaw, to his throat, each one an act of reverence. Each one released a pleasant shock of angelic love through Crowley’s body, tingling. He smiled, eyes still closed, and then felt a different, soft warm tickle on his forehead. He knitted his brows in confusion, feeling the sensation drawing across his face, beautiful but strange. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale wielding the glossy black feather that Crowley had gifted him the day they flew together. “Our side” Aziraphale whispered, smiling.

Crowley smiled back, and withdrew Aziraphale’s glowing white feather from his own pocket, reaching up to tickle the angel’s nose with the tip of it, teasingly. “Our side” he whispered back, drawing the feather over Aziraphale’s lips. Each of them looked at the feather in the other’s fingers at the same time, and a little flash of something shared passed between them. Aziraphale glanced away suddenly, coy. Crowley felt equally shy.

“You know, Angel.” He began, falteringly, avoiding his gaze. “When I gave you mine at the beach, I didn’t know exactly at the time why I felt I should be doing that, I just felt it was important…” Aziraphale looked back at him, surprised and confused. Crowley smiled back at him reassuringly. “But when you reciprocated, when you gave me yours at the flat, after I had, uh… remembered…” he paused for breath, steeling himself. “… I understood. And I didn’t regret it, I meant it, you know, even more so when you gave me yours. I meant it, I… um. I assume you…?” He left the question hanging in the air. Aziraphale blushed. “Of _course_ I meant it back, dearest. I accepted your promise at the beach, I’d had time to consider the proposal as well, that’s _why_ I gave you mine, my love. I accept you for everything you are, I always will. I _love_ you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s hammering heart skipped in his chest at the words, he bit his lip, lost for words, overwhelmed by the angel’s confession. “I…” he trailed off into a confused silence, unable to string a coherent sentence together, gesturing vaguely at nothing. He tried to draw a breath, sat up and looked about, trying to think. He looked back at his angel, then at the ground. He sighed and shook his glossy black wings out, then looked at one pointedly, then back at Aziraphale, a question in his eyes that he couldn’t put words to.

Aziraphale understood, and tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. “My love…” He sniffed. “We never finished it. I’m so sorry my darling.” He shook his own wings out and stood up, extending a hand to Crowley to help him to his feet as well. Each still held each other’s feather in one trembling hand. Crowley looked up at the sky and drew a deep breath, his body shaking with emotion. He blinked away tears and levelled his gaze at Aziraphale’s again. He extended one wing forward toward the angel. Aziraphale copied the movement. They smiled. Each gently took the top joint of each other’s wing in their free hand, stepped forward and kissed.

A shiver ran through the pair of them, from their feet to their heads, and along each wing.

When they broke off the kiss, they opened their eyes to meet each other’s gaze. Crowley’s peripheral vision drew his gaze downwards first, where their feet were surrounded by a riot of colour, as brightly coloured flowers had erupted from the lawn around their feet in a perfect circle, primroses, pansies, forget-me-nots, crocuses, narcissus and more. He looked up at his angel again. “Did you do that?” Aziraphale looked down in surprise. “Not me.” Crowley shrugged, and looked across at his left wing. He smiled. Aziraphale followed his gaze and beamed. They each then looked across at the angel’s left wing. Each of them now had a single, tiny covert feather near the wrist joint in the opposing colour. Crowley now sported a single, shining bright white feather, and Aziraphale’s held a night-dark glossy black one, tucked neatly amongst his own natural plumage.

It would have been disconcerting, if the angel didn’t know how and why it was there, knowing that it wasn’t a sign of falling, but a sign of belonging with another, forever. Those feathers would never be shed. Had they been two white winged angels, the feathers would have been gold. Instead they had each gained the other’s colour. Aziraphale carefully pocketed the black feather he still held in his fingers, and Crowley did the same with the white one. They smiled at each other again and fell forward into a tight embrace, kissing fiercely. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s strong arms wrap even more firmly around his body, and all of a sudden he felt a jolt as Crowley’s wings powered them both upwards into the sky, an act of pure joy. He opened his eyes to see the ground falling away from them alarmingly fast. Crowley broke off and grinned as the angel laughed happily.

“Together forever, Angel. No matter what happens, we have this. We have each other. Wherever you go, I go. I don’t know what that means if we discorporate, I don’t know how it stands when it’s an angel and a demon tied together for eternity. Maybe we’ll just end up somewhere deep in the solar system together as stars, who knows? It’s unbreakable, I don’t know if the Almighty herself could begrudge us this.” Crowley smiled at him, wings still beating strongly. Aziraphale could spread his own and separate onto a thermal to soar if he wanted, but that would mean letting go of Crowley’s embrace, and he couldn’t bear to do that at the moment.

“Well it’s the first time anyone other than angels have done this, dearest. We’ve set a precedent I suppose. Maybe we make our own rules from here, or find them out as we go.” He gazed into Crowley’s gentle golden eyes, lost in their depths. They kissed again and Crowley gently lowered them back onto the soft grass. He grinned at Aziraphale. “Ok, Angel, let’s get frivolous eh?”

Aziraphale beamed, leaned forward and kissed his husband.


	7. I’m *not* nice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale experiments with the language of flowers in his own unique way, pisses off an archangel, and things get messy. CW/TW: extreme violence, blood.

Before committing to gaining Gabriel’s attention, Crowley and Aziraphale stepped back into the building again to make sure they knew what they were doing and finish preparations. As they stepped through the doors, not yet having withdrawn their wings, each shuddered and met the other’s gaze in surprise. “Crowley… did you…?” Crowley nodded, eyebrows raised. “My new feather tingled, a bit uncomfortable, yours?” Aziraphale nodded. “But mine felt _good_.” The rest of him felt as progressively drained as before, but that one, single tiny new aspect of him came alive in the presence of the demonic atmosphere. He now owned a demonic feather, of course it should respond positively. And Crowley’s new angelic one likewise felt a negative reaction. It was tiny, but interesting.

Aziraphale had a strange feeling. “Crowley… we’re _linked_ now. Indelibly, unbreakably, I wonder…” Crowley understood. He nodded to the remaining pile of chairs and looked Aziraphale in the eye. “I love you, Angel.” Aziraphale snapped, and a few more of the chairs leapt into the air and stacked themselves neatly against the wall. “It’s still not easy, nowhere near as powerful as when we touch, but far, far easier than before.” Aziraphale grinned. Crowley snapped his fingers and plucked a stick of chalk out of the air with a flourish, then tossed it and caught it again. “Right, let’s get things underway, eh, _Mr_ Crowley-Fell?” Aziraphale tipped his head on one side and rolled his eyes at the demon. “You didn’t….” Crowley laughed. “Well, I did, didn’t I? And I fell for you too.” Aziraphale groaned at the pun, but was secretly happy that Crowley was able to make a joke of it. “I think we’d better talk about the whole name thing later, my darling.” Crowley nodded. “But if you ever refer to me as ‘hubby’ you’re sleeping on the sofa.” “Duly noted.” Aziraphale returned, his face mock serious, but the hint of a smile just wrinkling the corner of his lips nonetheless.

Crowley finished his work with the chalk, gathered up a few candles from around the hall and placed them at key points, then ignited them with a snap, smiling at his handiwork. The circle and sigils on the floor meant precisely nothing, mere decoration and distraction. He was counting on Gabriel not knowing that though. He folded his wings neatly against his back, but didn’t banish them. Aziraphale did the same, he pulled him forward for one last kiss, then they stepped back and nodded at each other. “Right angel, I’ll stay here, you get outside and get frivolous.” He stepped into the centre of the mock summoning circle and stood tense, waiting, grinding his teeth, staring out of the open door as Aziraphale stepped outside into the garden, where he stood in the centre of the small circle of flowers that had spontaneously erupted at their impromptu celestial wedding ceremony. He gazed around the rest of the neglected garden thoughtfully, and had an idea. He smiled back through the door at Crowley, lifted his fingers, and in the freedom of the outdoors, began snapping.

Crowley saw what he was doing with a smile. The angel set about miracling a multitude of flowers and plants into existence, not all at once in a simple one off miracle, but individually, in a flurry of spam miracles, about one a second, that were sure to arouse some attention upstairs in their sheer frequency. He glanced sideways at Crowley and snapped a fruiting apple tree into existence, making the demon laugh despite the tension they both felt. Aziraphale stalked around the lawn, miracling a range of beautiful flowers into existence under his feet where he stepped. Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he watched, puzzled, trying to figure out what mischief the angel was working on from his viewpoint inside the hall.

Aziraphale finished whatever he was working on in the centre of the lawn with a satisfied grin and glanced at Crowley, who strained to see what he’d done. Across the lawn were written, in blooms, the words “Gabriel is an arsehole”. Crowley laughed out loud at the sheer audacity of his bastard angel. Concerned that this might actually spoil the effect they were going for, Aziraphale quickly covered up the message by miracling in a load more flowers to obliterate the words, whilst secretly ensuring they were a variety that would stop blooming long before the words did, so that for at least part of the year, the Gabriel message would be the only thing showing in colour.

He carried on snapping, tidying up the existing vegetation as well, repairing a broken bit of garden wall, restoring a rusted hanging basket on the side of the building, carrying on with anything that caught his eye, until a warning sensation in the pit of his stomach made him glance up at Crowley in alarm. Crowley caught the look and his face grew serious. Aziraphale sprinted to the doorway just as Gabriel manifested a foot from him, his face thunderously angry.

“Gabriel” Aziraphale squeaked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know how to get your attention, I, uh, I have something for you.” Gabriel glared at him, then through the open doorway of the hall to where Crowley stood immobile in the centre of the room, eyes darting nervously around, looking afraid. Gabriel took it all in – the nervous angel before him, beseeching and apologetic, as if begging for approval, the summoning circle on the floor with an uncomfortable looking demon standing in the centre of it, apparently trapped there by the angel? The archangel was thoroughly confused. He strode through the door and winced back at the unpleasant sensation. “What the hell is the meaning of this, Aziraphale?” he thundered, rounding on him furiously.

Aziraphale shrank back in fear. “It’s just the effect of the demon, its fine. I thought about it all, I didn’t want to fall, I…” his eyes flicked over to where Crowley stood in the circle. “…I caught him for you. I changed my mind, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything, Gabriel, please forgive me…” Gabriel stared at him in shock, then back at Crowley. “Does he know he’s a demon again then?” He was utterly confused. Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t know, he doesn’t remember much, but he seems to have some power. I was still able to trick him into the trap though.”

Gabriel was not a complete idiot, and didn’t trust the angel one iota. It was all too convenient. He strode into the hall to inspect the immobile demon, Aziraphale hot on his heels. “I don’t know what little ploy you puerile little creatures are up to, but I’m ending it _here_.” Gabriel snarled, confident of his ability to overpower something as piddling as a cherub and a brainwashed demon.

The corner of Crowley’s lips twitched in a humourless smile and he snapped his fingers. The fire door slammed shut and bolted itself. Gabriel spun on his heel in alarm, then his face shot back to Crowley again. The demon was no longer looking scared. The demon was looking more demonic than he’d ever seen him before. His dark wings spread wide as he stalked toward the archangel, clearing the distance between them in just three quick steps, then grabbed him by the perfectly tailored lapels and shoved him back against the wall, his strength overwhelming in this place. Gabriel tried to resist but felt inexplicably weak, no stronger than the human corporation he inhabited. His eyes flew wide in alarm. “Really, Crowley, that’s not very nice is it?” he blustered, a fake pleading smile plastered across his face. Crowley’s wings shimmered and his feathers _changed_. Gabriel’s jaw dropped in shock at the sight.

“I’m a Demon, I’m not _nice_ ” he hissed, a vicious snarl on his lips, exposing too-sharp teeth, gleaming with the drip of venom. “And YOU. HURT. _MY_. ANGEL!” Each word punctuated by a short, powerful, cobra-strike-fast punch to the face. His anger was incandescent, tiny licking flames of hellfire manifested on the tip of each bladed primary feather on his dark wings, which rose unbidden in his anger, mantling above his head in a typical fighting stance, those lethally sharp blades pointing forwards.

A furious deep snarl of rage settled into a low, sustained growl. The Archangel’s spine turned to ice, blood dripping down his face, dripping onto Crowley’s hands as they gripped his lapels. Crowley’s gaze dropped briefly to a droplet of angelic blood on one clenched fist. He grinned slowly, flicked out his too-long tongue and licked it off, before resuming eye contact with Gabriel, eyes narrowing, thinking.

Gabriel’s mind raced. He didn’t know where he was, or why it was sapping his power so much. He tried snapping his fingers but felt the effect fizzle into nothingness with alarm. His eyes darted around, looking for escape options. He saw Aziraphale standing to the side, watchful and serious, hands fisted, glaring at him. Crowley slapped Gabriel hard, claws out, drawing four parallel lines across his cheek that burned with demonic power. “Don’t look at _him_ , look at _me_.” He hissed angrily. Gabriel went limp in his grasp, just long enough to feel the demon’s grip flex slightly in uncertainty, then took advantage of the moment to shove forward again with all his might, catching Crowley off guard, unbalancing him, giving the archangel enough room to quickly bring forth his own wings, all six of them, and with a grunt of effort he hadn’t exerted in millennia, he ensured each set was bladed. Aziraphale’s expression paled in fear.

Crowley glanced across at Aziraphale, and knew in an instant what he needed to do. He shot him a look and drew on all the power he could feel through his feet from the room. “I love you, Angel! he shouted, and flung a hand in Aziraphale’s direction. The pulse of power hit the angel like a hard shove in the chest, and he felt his wings shiver. He stepped backwards as he felt the change in weight and balance, then glanced down to see that Crowley had summoned his own bladed primaries for him. He looked up gratefully, then his expression flickered to alarm as Gabriel leapt at Crowley while he was distracted. “CROWLEY!” he screamed.

Gabriel’s top set of wings was mantled over his head protectively, the centre set pointed forward toward Crowley as he leaped, and the bottom set were held in a wide defensive arc, in a classical archangel fighting stance. Some distant memory flickered in Crowley’s own brain and he winced at the sight. His own back burned at the memory briefly, before Gabriel was colliding with him, slashing at him, grabbing, punching, tumbling. Crowley kicked and punched back, bringing his own wings forward, and yelped as one of Gabriel’s bladed feathers sliced the side of his face open, and the other stabbed into the side of his ribs. He reached out and grabbed the top of the nearest wing, yanking it close and biting down hard, his fangs sinking deep into the wing joint, his serpentine aspect fully wide awake and trying to overwhelm his body at that instant, injecting demonic venom into the archangel, who screamed out in agony and tried to get away.

With a savage punch to Crowley’s face, Gabriel made the demon release his grip with his teeth and the two tumbled apart. Gabriel tried to struggle to his feet, but Aziraphale grabbed hold of Crowley’s hand and stared into his eyes, felt the flash of love and snapped. A heavy wooden chest flew across the room and smashed into the archangel, shoving him backwards against the wall as Aziraphale helped Crowley to his feet. Gabriel stared at the two of them aghast. How the hell had the angel been able to do that? It was clear that something here was sapping his own power, diminishing it, but the angel didn’t seem to be affected. He rose to his feet, shoving the heavy splintered chest aside, and winced in pain, one wing sagging uselessly at his side, burning like it was filled with acid. He couldn’t even flex it. Worse, he could feel it spreading. His gaze shot up again at the angel and demon holding hands in front of him. “What the fuck…?” he managed, then saw the oddity. Each had an opposing feather in their left wing.

Gabriel pulled a disgusted face, a glimmer of understanding dawning. “You… you’re _disgusting_. It’s a travesty! An angel and a demon, and … _that_ …” he spat. Crowley’s face darkened. If he had been furious before, it was nothing compared to the sheer hatred spilling from his demonic form now. He hissed, mouth open wide, long fangs dripping venom, wings mantled forward and leapt into the air at Gabriel. He slashed out with one wing, and was rewarded with a scream of pain from the archangel as one bladed feather sliced across his chest, the flickering hellfire that played along the edge leaving a burning, gaping wound, but was immediately flung across the room by an answering reflexive blow from one of Gabriel’s still functioning wings, sending the demon crashing to the floor, sliding through a pile of detritus and coming to a halt against the far wall, dazed.


	8. Too many wings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is a force to be reckoned with, Crowley and Aziraphale struggle to take down the Archangel and get answers. CW/TW graphic descriptions of violence, blood.

Gabriel’s face twisted in agony as he felt the venom from his bitten wing spreading up his ulnar. He concentrated hard, hard enough to summon a short blade. He grabbed his own wing in one hand, gritted his teeth, screamed and slashed savagely down with the blade to sever his own middle wing from his back, throwing it aside, sobbing, blood spurting from the amputated stump, jetting across the parquet floor. Crowley lifted his head and smiled grimly. “Know what it feels like now, Gabriel?” he hissed, spitting blood. “At least you got to use a knife, mine were _ripped_ off.”

Gabriel got unsteadily to his feet, his balance thrown by the uneven weight of his wings, and pointed the blade at Aziraphale. “You’ll suffer for this, you piece of shit” he growled, advancing on the angel, his remaining wings swinging forward threateningly. “Both of you. I’ll torture the pair of you in front of each other for all fucking eternity.” He snarled, getting closer. Aziraphale’s wings mantled forward and he braced his feet, fists clenched, then gave up waiting and charged. He ducked in under the top pair of wings and stabbed forward with his own, whilst aiming strong punches to the archangel’s already painful chest and gut. He had the satisfaction of feeling his own bladed wings puncturing skin in several places, whilst Gabriel’s wings couldn’t tuck in close enough to get back at him just yet.

He’d forgotten the short sword in the archangel’s fist however, and gasped back in shock as he felt it punch forward into his side. Not a mortal blow, but savagely deep. Aziraphale fell backwards, clutching at the hilt, yanking it out. Gabriel clenched his jaw and snapped again, yet again nothing happened. He concentrated and tried a second time. It was hard, but not impossible. He summoned a spear this time and hefted it experimentally, feeling its weight, before Crowley barrelled into him from the side, knocking him to the floor again, winding him in the process.

Gabriel lashed out, cracking the demon’s head with the heavy ash handle of the spear, stunning him, then rolled athletically backwards and slashed out again with his wings, cutting deep into Crowley’s upper arm, laying the flesh open in a gaping wound. Crowley hissed in pain and launched forward again. He slashed out with his wing at the spear, cutting the handle in two, Gabriel only kept hold of the sharp wooden stake that remained of the handle, the metal head rolling away on the floor. He stabbed out at Crowley regardless, jamming the sharp wooden remnant into his thigh. Crowley screamed and collapsed, then Aziraphale was bodily hurling a chair at Gabriel, following through with a series of vicious punches to the head as he fell back again.

Aziraphale stood, breathing hard, pressing a hand against the wound in his side to stem the flow of blood. Gabriel lay stunned on the floor. Crowley yanked the wooden stake from his thigh and threw it aside, took a staggering step toward the prone archangel, and fell to his knees on the floor above him. He straddled Gabriel’s thighs, fisted his hands on the floor by his shoulders, and brought his flaming hellfire-coated bladed feathers forward either side of his body, his face inches from Gabriel’s grinning wickedly, venom dripping from his fangs, splashing onto the archangel’s skin, burning wherever it fell. He slid just one flaming primary feather easily through Gabriel’s shoulder, slicing through skin, muscle, tendon and ligament as easily as a scalpel, and sinking into the wooden floor below, skewering him neatly to the ground like a bug pinned to a board. Gabriel screamed out in agony, the hellfire burning the length of the wound through his shoulder.

Crowley wasn’t finished however, and followed the movement with his other wing, even slower this time, his expression grim, enjoying watching the pain coursing across the archangel’s face as he pushed his feather blade through the other shoulder inch by inch, then grinning evilly as Gabriel sobbed and howled underneath him, writhing in pain. The usually deeply buried demonic aspect of Crowley that he hadn’t allowed to release in millennia was wide awake and subsuming his personality completely. It had taken him over and silenced his more moderate impulses with the urge to hurt, maim, kill, and take vengeance. The last aspect ran deepest.

Gabriel’s remaining wings were thrashing about in pain, slashing up at Crowley, who managed to bat them away with his arms, before reaching out and grabbing the severed spearhead from the floor next to him, he hefted it in one hand, grinned into Gabriel’s face, then stabbed it down on another of his 5 remaining wings, pinning it to the floor as well. Gabriel redoubled his efforts, and Crowley used his arms to pin the top pair to the ground by the radius, but that still left the bottom pair slashing widely, and Crowley had run out of appendages.

Managing to get the flex right, Gabriel tucked his bottom wings tighter and cut into Crowley’s hips, making the demon flinch, but hold steady nonetheless. Aziraphale lunged forwards and grabbed the bones of one wing, yanked, using the leverage to spin his lower body around on the floor, now slippery with blood, to brace his feet against Gabriel’s torso, then used his not inconsiderable strength to wrench the wing bones savagely backwards, twisting to dislocate the joint. Gabriel grunted in pain then howled again, the tendons of his neck straining with the scream. His right hand bottom wing hung uselessly. Aziraphale rolled backwards and away, mind whirling. The archangel was still too powerful an adversary even like this, even without full control of his power, and was now slashing at Crowley with the remaining free wing on the other side. Crowley wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, and was losing too much blood.

“Crowley!” he yelled desperately. “You summoned my blades, can’t you banish his?” Crowley’s eyes opened wide in surprise. Of fucking _course_. He glared down at Gabriel, felt for the power reserve around him, and pushed the lot of it through the hands pinning the top wings to the floor as hard has he could. There was a pulse of power and Gabriel’s wings were nothing more than fluttering feathers again, harmless. Crowley laughed.

Aziraphale shuffled quickly to Gabriel’s head and used his strong hands to grip the now harmless top wings out of the way, freeing Crowley’s hands to grab Gabriel’s wrists. He brought one up between them, glaring at the chunky timepiece ornamenting it. “Letsss talk about thissss, shall we?” he hissed at the archangel menacingly. Gabriel knew fear. Real fear. Crowley adjusted the angle of his wings and allowed a second primary feather to prick the skin of Gabriel’s shoulders below the first, pressing forward slowly, so the blade sliced gradually through the skin, the hellfire on its edge cursing the wound. No matter what happened, no matter how this ended, these wounds would never heal. Gabriel sobbed.

“Where did you get it?” Crowley growled in his face. A fresh drop of venom splattered into one of Gabriel’s violet eyes, blinding him immediately and making him scream out in fresh pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ ” he gasped. Crowley grunted, and sunk a second primary in on the other side this time, sinking it in just a quarter of an inch. Gabriel moaned, tears flowing from his eyes. “That’sss not an ansssswer, archangel.” Crowley hissed, his face just inches from Gabriel’s own. Gabriel suddenly lunged up and head butted Crowley, breaking his nose, causing a gush of blood. Crowley hissed a curse in Enochian, releasing Gabriel’s wrists, which desperately lashed out punching in the air between them, occasionally making contact with Crowley’s torso. Aziraphale flipped his position and seized Gabriel’s head between his knees, whilst still holding his top wings firm. Crowley shook the blood from his face with a snarl and pinned Gabriel’s arms again. He leant forward on his wings and sunk two more primaries into the archangel’s flesh by flexing the angle of his wingtips. Gabriel stopped struggling. The pain was overwhelming, the flames burning all the way through each wound. He struggled to draw breath. The 3 pairs of blades sunk through the tendons and muscles of his shoulders finally stopped his arms from being able to move and they fell limply at his sides.

“Where’d you steal my _watch_ , pisswings?” Gabriel groaned. “It was me, you fucking idiot. I took your memories, and I took your fucking watch as well.” The demon growled low in his throat, his chest reverberating with anger. “Your lot asked me to help. It was Hastur. We’d done it before, it wasn’t the first time. It’s a good way to dispose of dissidents we can’t find any other solution to for one reason or another. They pretty much always can’t deal with it, being loose in the world with no memory of who or what they are, and they get themselves discorporated in the end, then they’re not our problem anymore. No blood on our hands, see?”

Crowley yanked the spearhead out of the other middle wing, yanked the wing up with one hand and bit into the joint savagely, depositing a full load of venom into it, making the archangel scream out again. “ _No blood?_ ” Crowley growled. “Did you even _look_ at Aziraphale when you’d finished with him?”

There was an explosion.

Splintered fragments of wood flew across the hall from the fire exit, and Michael stood in the doorway, she took in the scene aghast, the blood and devastation, all three supernatural beings with horrific injuries. She stepped across the threshold and faltered at the sensation. Crowley’s eyes met Aziraphale’s in fear. One archangel was difficult enough, with two, they were done for. Crowley’s head sagged. “Fuck.” He breathed, quietly. Gabriel couldn’t see what was going on, still half blinded by venom, and pinned to the floor. Crowley raised his head to gaze at his angel one last time. “Been nice knowing you. I love you, Angel.” Aziraphale shook his head. “No, Crowley, no… my love…” tears fell from his eyes.


	9. Vengeance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divine intervention. Healing hurts. A garden made for two.

Michael stepped back through the threshold to the garden again, noting the change in sensation as she did, and understood that there was something about the hall that was hostile to angels. She narrowed her eyes, summoned a sword which immediately flared with celestial fire, and stepped forward again regardless. The celestial fire dimmed as she crossed the threshold, and she sagged slightly, but the fire didn’t go out completely, and she carried on toward the assembled group, resolute.

A demon, an angel, and an archangel in a bloody tableaux on the floor were frozen in place as the second archangel approached, her face grim. “Gabriel” she began. He flinched at the sound of her voice, and tried to twist his head to see her, one eye still closed and burned by demonic venom. He could feel the rest of the venom burning up his middle wing toward his spine as well. He knew he didn’t have long before he’d have to cut that one off as well or risk worse damage, but the overwhelming pain and hellfire through his shoulders made it hard to think any more. He could dimly glimpse Michael as she stepped into view over him, heedless of Crowley and Aziraphale, who remained stock still, confused and uncertain.

“Fariel told me” Michael said, her tone flat. “And I checked the observation files, Gabriel. Didn’t you think I’d _check_? That I’d find out? After I _expressly_ told you to let it drop?” Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected _this_. Michael’s boot nudged his knee by Gabriel’s head, and he hastily shuffled backwards, releasing the prone archangel, staring up at Michael in shock. She looked down at Crowley, her gaze measuring his expression carefully, mindful of the flickering hellfire mere inches from her own leg. She must have nerves of steel, the demon thought. Despite her knowing that her power wasn’t at its strongest here, she was still standing right next to him apparently unafraid. He didn’t move. Gabriel groaned underneath his grip.

“Crowley, I have an apology to make to you. Nothing that Gabriel did was sanctioned by heaven. He was working with hell to find a way to hurt you both. I know I’m one to talk, I’m far from innocent myself, I collaborated with them myself in the past, I even brought the holy water for your execution. But you have to understand, after I saw what happened, that you were unaffected, I knew that the Almighty had Her reasons for letting you two live. I can’t go against her wishes.”

She sighed and poked at Gabriel with the tip of her sword. “I found out what he did to you. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered somehow. He had planned to do it to Aziraphale as well. I forbade it. I _ordered_ him to leave you both _alone_.” With ‘ordered’ and ‘alone’ she poked Gabriel slightly with the tip of the celestial blade, just enough to make a point. “I see that he didn’t.” She lifted her gaze to the rafters, trying to think. “Can you release him, please, Crowley? I think you’ve all done enough damage to each other here, and those hellfire cursed wounds are not ever going to heal, is that punishment enough?” Crowley glanced away. It would never be enough, but he was being given a chance here, a chance to get out of this alive with his angel intact.

The demon groaned in pain from a multitude of wounds, and hefted his upper body up on his forearms, releasing a fresh gout of blood from the deep wound on one of them as he moved. He slowly slid his bladed feathers from Gabriel’s shoulders, the flames extinguishing as he did, drawing a fresh cry of pain from the prostrated archangel. He sat back on his haunches and with Aziraphale’s help, staggered weakly to his feet. Aziraphale had one hand bunched to his own side to stem the blood flowing there, and his anxious gaze took in the plethora of injuries on Crowley’s ravaged body. He’d gone up against an archangel and survived, barely. Even with the power dynamic manipulated in his favour he’d only just made it. His stabbed thigh trembled and he half collapsed onto Aziraphale. His flanks were also cut to ribbons with a number of lesser, shallow parallel cuts. Aziraphale pressed a hand to Crowley’s upper arm to try to push some healing power through, but within the walls of the satanic temple he couldn’t muster enough power to make it work unless Crowley cooperated with him. It’d be easier to get him outside.

Gabriel stared up at Michael. “Please, Michael, my wing… you have to...” He gulped and drew a ragged breath, sweat trickling down his face, mixing with the blood there. “… Your sword, please…” Michael stared at him, impassive. “I’m not giving you my sword, Gabriel.” Gabriel snarled. “Not that, my wing. That _bastard_ bit it, it’s full of venom, I had to cut the other one off before it reached my spine, it’ll spread to the others, to the rest of me, this one will too, please…” Michael looked at Crowley aghast, then back at Gabriel, and finally noticed the amputated wing lying on the floor a few feet away with horror. Gabriel struggled to rise and fell back. She finally knelt and helped roll him over. She glanced toward the angel and demon. “Aziraphale, come and hold out Gabriel’s wing for me.” In a voice that brooked no debate. He hesitated nonetheless. “Aziraphale!” she barked, angrily. “Crowley can keep, he’s clearly stronger in this place, Gabriel can’t heal, and he’ll die unless we amputate his wing, that demonic venom will consume him, especially here.” Aziraphale reluctantly let go of Crowley, giving him an apologetic look, and stepped over to Gabriel.

He looked down at the archangel, disgusted, and grabbed the bitten middle wing roughly, yanking it straight without any sympathy. The archangel had been intending to wipe his mind as well, he had planned to destroy them both, Aziraphale couldn’t forgive him. He ignored the scream. Michael shot Aziraphale a warning look, disapproving, then placed one boot on Gabriel’s back to hold him still. “Brace yourself, Gabriel” she said, grimly, and swung the blade. Gabriel’s scream was ear shattering, but the celestial flame cauterised the wound and stopped it from bleeding. Aziraphale fell back, his hands full of amputated wing, and dropped it in disgust. He quickly stood and rushed back to support Crowley again.

Michael touched the burning blade to Gabriel’s other stump to cauterize that wound as well. He screamed afresh at the sensation. He now only had his original top pair of wings, and the lower pair, one of which was dislocated and dangled at an obscene angle. “Looks like you’ve given yourself a demotion” Michael observed drily. Nonetheless she knelt and grabbed Gabriel’s arm, helping roll him over. She took in the two lines of hellfire-cursed wounds at the front of each shoulder with distaste, and the longer one across his chest. She thought a moment, cast a glance at Crowley, then banished her sword, and took more of Gabriel’s weight on her shoulder. She tried to snap and was irritated when nothing happened. “We’ll have to get outside” Aziraphale said weakly. Gabriel was a deadweight, Michael was the only uninjured creature in the room. Aziraphale seemed the least worst physically. She made a decision.

“Aziraphale, leave Crowley for a moment, come outside with me, let me heal you up, then you can come back in and help me get these two outside as well.” Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, worried. Michael sighed in exasperation “It’s not a _trap_ , Aziraphale. I could have finished the lot of you off when I came in if I wanted to, judging by the state of you all. I’m trying to _help_ here, let me help you.” Aziraphale relented. He gently lowered Crowley to the floor again and gave him a gentle kiss. “I’ll be back in a moment, dearest.” Aziraphale shuffled over to Michael, who helped him to the garden, where he collapsed on the grass. She cast an expert gaze over him, then placed her hands over the worst injury, the deep stab wound on his side from the blade, and poured her angelic power into it, freed from the fetters of the interior of the temple. Aziraphale drew a deep breath as the warmth spread through his body. “Thank you” he breathed, risking a small smile. Michael was unimpressed. “Shut up and help me with the others.”

Aziraphale wanted to help Crowley next, but Michael pointed out that Gabriel was more at risk. The temple was keeping Crowley stronger but draining Gabriel at an alarming rate. Aziraphale relented with bad grace and helped drag Gabriel outside none too gently, before dropping him and storming back in for Crowley, lifting him bodily on his own and carrying him gently outside. He laid him down reverently in the middle of the circle of flowers that had erupted around their feet earlier in the day. Crowley was losing consciousness from loss of blood, and once he was out of the temple he flagged even more. Aziraphale’s gaze flickered over to Michael. She wouldn’t be any help, she was frantically trying to heal Gabriel, at least as far as she could. The hellfire wounds were permanent, but she was working on the rest. Aziraphale would have to deal with Crowley on his own.

He laid a hand over the wound on his thigh and pushed his power forward to stem the bleeding and begin the wound closing. He repeated the attempt on his upper arm, but there was so much damage over the demon’s body that he couldn’t manage it all on his own. Then he thought of the smashed table. “Crowley” he said, trying to rouse him. “I have an idea, but I’m going to have to move you again, just a little…” Crowley murmured but didn’t rouse.

Aziraphale lifted him again reluctantly, and brought him back toward the fire exit, placing him down carefully half in, and half out of the doorway. Crowley’s lower legs within the demonic temple, the rest of him outside on the grass. He stirred, weakly. Aziraphale smiled, his theory was correct. He placed his hand back on the injury on Crowley’s arm, and placed the other on the demon’s face and stroked him gently. “Crowley, my love, open your eyes, look at me darling.” Crowley’s lashes fluttered weakly, and he struggled to open his eyes to meet his angel’s. “I need you to draw your power through again to help me, to help you, my love. Can you feel it? At your feet?”

Crowley looked confused, but wriggled his toes. He felt the strange sensation of a trickle of demonic power in the lower part of his body, and yet he could see blue sky above him. “Trust me, darling, and kiss me.” Aziraphale told him, and leant down to meet his lips. The power flowed up and through, and the love fuelled the angel, his hand glowed on the wound and it healed up completely under his touch. He broke off and smiled. Crowley understood and smiled back at him. “Do that again, Angel” he grinned. Aziraphale laughed. “Of course, my love.” And bent forward for another kiss, moving his free hand over the demon’s body, healing each hurt in turn. The power drew out from the temple, through Crowley’s body, turned into love, poured into the angel, and turned into healing power that fed right back into the demon again.

Aziraphale leaned back, still kneeling next to Crowley, who looked disappointed. “Why’d you stop, Angel?” Aziraphale smiled down at him. “You’re healed, darling, can’t you feel it? Rather more efficiently than I was even able to fix myself, I might add.” Crowley nodded. “Yeah, I know, but why’d you have to stop kissing me anyway?” Aziraphale snorted. He gave Crowley one more kiss and stood up, grabbing his hand to help him to his feet. “That’ll do for now, darling.”

They looked over to Michael and Gabriel. Gabriel was still prone on the ground. Michael looked up at the pair of them in surprise. “How in heaven’s name were you able to do _that_?” she demanded, staring wide eyed at Crowley. Aziraphale shrugged. “Trade secret.” Michael looked disapproving. “Well can you do it to Gabriel then? I’m struggling here.” Crowley snorted in derision. Aziraphale resisted doing the same. “I’m not kissing Gabriel. It wouldn’t work anyway, he hates me. I daresay I’d just make him worse if I tried. I can’t imagine what a hateful touch would do to my healing powers but I doubt it’d be helpful.”

Michael sat back, frustrated. Gabriel was only semi-conscious on the grass. “I can’t heal his wings. The middle ones are gone permanently. The dislocated bottom one may or may not heal, I’ve no idea. The other injuries are responding to some degree, and obviously the hellfire ones are there forever, they’ll never stop hurting him, they’ll never heal, never close, they’ll burn permanently. That eye is shot too, I don’t know what’s in that venom of yours, Crowley, but it’s not responding to anything I can do with it.” Crowley shrugged. “I’ve no idea. It’s never happened before if I’m honest. Never even knew I could do that until today. I always assumed my serpent aspect was purely a constrictor, now I know better I guess. It’s certainly never bled through to my human form that way before.” He didn’t look sorry. He wasn’t.

Aziraphale sighed and went over to kneel next to Michael and Gabriel. He took Michael’s hand and looked at her. “See if you can draw some of my power out through you, and _then_ into him. It might help a bit, but I don’t know.” Michael nodded and tried. She was able to bolster her own power a little, and some of the non-supernatural wounds on the archangel healed up, but with the amount of supernatural injuries on his body, the rest would be a case of wait and see. Gabriel groaned and fixed Aziraphale with one malevolent eye. Aziraphale returned the look impassively. “Fuck off” Gabriel growled. Aziraphale stood and complied, returning to wind his arm around Crowley possessively. Crowley pulled him close and kissed his cheek, flipping a finger at Gabriel as he did.

Michael glared at Gabriel. “Aziraphale _helped_ me, you ungrateful idiot. He helped _you_.” Gabriel grunted. “I could have let them kill you.” She reminded him. “If you pull a stunt like this again, _or_ …” she paused and pinned him with a sharp look “… _or_ allow someone else to do so, under your orders or otherwise, I will help them to finish the job. That is, if the Almighty doesn’t simply cast you down into Gehenna herself, I doubt she’s going to look upon your behaviour favourably.”

She returned her gaze to the angel and demon, holding each other tight, side by side, and finally noticed what Gabriel had seen, the exchanged feathers in their wings. She raised one perfect eyebrow in surprise. “I see.” Crowley nodded. “Yu _p_ ” he said with a grin. Michael carried on. “You have my word, I will do everything I can to protect you from something like this again. I can’t promise, but I can do my best. I’ll see what I can do about hell. Again, no promises, but at least I’ll try to keep Gabriel in check. I don’t think he’s going to be up to much for quite some time anyway, given the state of him.”

Crowley snarled towards Gabriel. “And what about Sandalphon? He was in on it too.” Michael pursed her lips. “Leave him to me, I’ll work something out. I’m sorry.” Crowley huffed, unimpressed, but knowing that they didn’t have much choice in the matter. They’d been lucky to get out of this alive. He’d wanted to kill the archangel, but if he was honest, a lifetime of torturous pain from the hellfire-cursed injuries Crowley had managed to inflict on him, and the loss of two of his six wings was probably better than utter immolation. Now Gabriel would have to live every single day of his existence with that pain, unable to escape it. Crowley smiled grimly at the thought. He shook his own wings out of existence again with a flourish. Aziraphale followed suit.

Michael gripped an unresisting Gabriel, nodded at Crowley and Aziraphale, snapped her fingers, and the two archangels disappeared. Crowley turned on his heel and stalked back through the door of the temple, casting his gaze around at the devastation they’d wrought. He walked over to one of Gabriel’s wings, and kicked it over to join the other on the floor. Aziraphale stood outside and watched. Crowley waved a hand and vanished the blood and gore on the floor, returning the room to a semblance of normality, save for the pair of amputated archangel wings in the middle of the room. He snapped his fingers and lit them up in a gout of hellfire with a grim humourless smile on his features as he watched them burn.

The flames flickered and danced in the reflection in his slitted yellow eyes. He passed his hands slowly through the flickering fire, not taking any harm, feeling only a pleasant warmth. Aziraphale watched his love from the doorway, for the first time truly seeing his demon as the typical stereotype. Hard faced, engulfed in flames, glorifying over the destruction of an archangel’s wings by his hand. The angel swallowed nervously. Today was the only time he’d ever truly seen Crowley as Crowley had always been afraid he would. But he seemed to have to get this out of his system. Aziraphale understood. He couldn’t destroy the archangel, but he could at least do this. He was still Crowley. He was still his _husband_. Everything he’d done, he’d done for Aziraphale, for them, to protect them both. He’d only used his demonic aspect reluctantly, he’d let the genie out of the bottle, released his repressed self for the good of them both, and was now bottling it back up again.

As the final feather fell to ash, Crowley waved the flames away, and snapped the ash away too. He cast a final look around the building, sniffed, and stalked out to meet his angel in the sunshine of the garden. He snapped the doors shut behind them, took Aziraphale’s arm, and led him back to the circle of flowers in the middle of the lawn. He turned to face his love, rested their foreheads together and breathed deeply, drawing his arms tight around his angel, feeling Aziraphale’s strong arms circling around his lean torso in return.

Aziraphale began to shake in his grasp, and Crowley couldn’t help but shiver as well. They sank slowly to their knees together, holding each other tightly, afraid to let go. Crowley kissed his angel’s cheek softly, then buried his face in his shoulder and breathed his scent in deeply. He reached up one hand to stroke the angel’s soft white curls. Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s neck, and stroked up to his hair in turn. “Oh my love, thank you.” Crowley sniffed into his shoulder and held him tighter.

After a little while, Aziraphale leaned back and took in Crowley’s tear-streaked face. His own eyes were shining with tears as well, and they smiled weakly at each other. Crowley cupped his angel’s face in both hands and kissed him with lips soft and warm. He then trailed kisses across his cheek, up to his forehead, buried his nose in his hair and kissed his head. “Thank you for my garden, Angel” he whispered. “It’s beautiful.” Aziraphale chuckled. “It was the first thing that sprang to mind, my love. It seemed appropriate. A garden just for us.” Crowley drew back and met his gaze. “Will you love me here, my Angel?” Aziraphale nodded “Of course.” He laid Crowley back into the flowers below them, lowered himself down with him, and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic didn't go entirely in the direction I had (loosely) planned for it. Yet again, the characters ran away with the plot and did their own thing regardless. A lot of this surprised even me. I'll admit I had originally planned for Gabriel to die, but figured that eternal torment of wounds that would burn forever was more like what he deserved, considering the hell he's put the ineffable husbands through. In this universe, Gabriel is an evil bastard. He doesn't deserve mercy. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed it. I'm not sure yet whether I'll write more with Sandalphon and Hastur getting their punishment as well or not. I might just leave it here for a bit. Who knows? Thank you for reading, you're all wonderful.


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